WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 


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FOR     THE     NEXT    HALF     HOUR    WE     RELIEVED    HIM    AS    MUCH    AS    POSSIBLE. 


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TRAGEDY 
GRJN  S 

GRACE  MILLER.  WHITE 


WTW 

Illustrations  by 
SCHABELITZ 


N     E    W        Y   O   P-  K 

J  .WATT  &  COMPANY 

PVB    L.  I   8  H  B  R.  5 


COPYRIGHT  1912,  BY 
W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 

Puilishtd  January 


LOVINGLY  I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK 
TO  THE  FIVE  OF  THEM— 

NANINE,  MARIE,  ANTOINETTE,  DAVID  AND  BOB 


2133695 


Deliver  me,  'Almighty  God,  into  the  hands  of  mine  enemies, 
rather  than  unto  the  man  I  love! 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 


CHAPTER  I 

I  WAS  beginning  to  feel  lonely  in  this  big  Hotel 
Ritz  when  Countess  Larodi  came  to  call  upon  me 
in  response  to  Colonel  Coster's  letter.  She's  not  so 
good  looking  as  I  had  been  given  to  believe ;  but  she  patted 
my  hand  kindly,  saying  she  hoped  she  would  see  me  often 
now  that  I  had  to  come  to  live  in  Paris. 

"  I  shall  always  feel  a  special  interest  in  any  friend  of 
Colonel  Coster's,"  said  she,  measuring  me  from  my  new 
blouse  to  my  slippers.  "  You  will  find  that  you  need 
many  more  dresses  in  Paris  than  in  your  own  town,"  she  re- 
marked later  when  she  brought  up  the  sub j  ect  of  shopping. 

Indeed,  when  I  think  about  it,  she  talked  of  little  else 
save  dresses  and  dressmakers,  except  when  she  told  me  of 
her  son,  whom  she  was  very  anxious  I  should  meet. 

I  am  obliged  to  smile  when  I  think  of  how  Aunty  used 
to  say,  "  Never  talk  of  your  toilette  to  strangers,  my  dear : 
it's  such  bad  taste." 

She  always  thought  I  was  inclined  to  be  vain ;  but  the 
Countess  apparently  doesn't  think  me  vain  enough.  She 
is  going  to  bring  her  son  here  next  Monday,  and  on  that 
evening  I  am  going  to  dine  with  them. 

I'm  longing  to  begin  my  singing  lessons.  My  piano  came 
today,  and  I  have  been  practising  scales  all  the  morning. 
I  suppose  Marquise  will  tell  me  that  my  breathing  is 

1 


2  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

wrong,  and  that  I  must  unlearn  all  that  I  have  learned. 
She  makes  every  new  pupil  do  that,  they  say. 

I  want  to  be  really  famous, —  to  become  a  great  prima 
donna  like  Melba  or  Patti.  I  should  be  miserable  if  I 
had  to  live  the  ordinary  and  uninteresting  life  of  a  girl 
with  money. 

If  it  were  not  for  Eliza,  I  should  be  feeling  rather  lost 
—  she  is  more  like  a  friend  than  a  maid.  It  is  the  first 
time  she  has  been  away  from  America,  and  she  didn't  rel- 
ish coming  to  Paris.  It  annoys  her  to  hear  people  talking 
French.  She  takes  it  as  a  kind  of  intentional  rudeness, 
and  makes  moody  comparisons  between  American  and 
French  manners.  Although  she  is  quite  forty,  she  has 
never  married,  and  says  the  reason  is  that  she  despises 
men. 

There  is  a  lady's  maid  at  the  table  at  which  Eliza  takes 
her  meals,  whose  mistress  has  had  three  husbands,  and  is 
going  to  take  a  fourth.  Eliza  said  she  ought  to  know- 
better,  and  that  the  woman  who  married  even  a  second 
time  was  tempting  Providence.  When  I  asked  her  why, 
she  told  me  that  one  day  I  would  find  out  for  myself.  I 
often  wonder  if  Eliza  was  ever  crossed  in  love.  There 
must  be  some  reason  why  she  hates  men.  I  don't  know 
very  much  about  men ;  but  there  is  one  man  who  is,  I  am 
sure,  nearly  perfect  —  at  least  he  seems  so  to  me. 

It's  ridiculous  to  be  bored  in  Paris,  the  gayest  city  in 
the  world.  I'm  here  to  study  and  see  things,  and  I  don't 
intend  to  sit  in  this  hotel,  day  after  day,  looking  out  of 
the  window,  and  imagining  what  might  be  going  on  be- 
yond that  curve  at  the  Place  Vendome. 

Just  for  something  to  do  I  am  going  to  take  a  list  of 
cafes,  shut  my  eyes,  and  stick  a  pin  at  random  into  one 
of  the  names.  I'll  go  this  evening  to  the  cafe  that  the 


point  indicates,  even  if  I  have  to  go  alone;  for  I  believe 
Eliza  will  object. 

There!  the  point  of  the  pin  fell  directly  upon  "Le 
Rat  Mort."  I  rang  the  bell  and  asked  the  chambermaid 
what  it  meant.  With  an  impertinent  stare  she  answered: 

"  The  Dead  Rat,  Mademoiselle." 

Whew!  The  name  isn't  very  savory;  but  the  pin  has 
decided  it,  and  I'm  going.  I  shall  take  Eliza,  too,  al- 
though she  does  object,  as  I  prophesied. 

•  ••••••• 

Eliza  will  hardly  speak  to  me  this  morning,  she  is  so 
offended  about  last  night.  I  have  been  obliged  to  put 
my  arms  about  her  and  promise  that  I  will  never  take  her 
out  to  a  cafe  again ;  for  I  didn't  really  mean  to  hurt  her 
feelings  —  I  wouldn't  do  that  for  the  whole  world.  Per- 
haps it  was  rather  a  silly  thing  to  do;  for  it  might  have 
been  one  of  those  dangerous  places  where  Nihilists  as- 
semble. There  are  cafes  like  that  in  Paris. 

We  left  the  hotel  about  nine  last  night,  Eliza  sitting  up 
as  straight  as  a  post  in  the  cab. 

The  Dead  Rat  is  the  prettiest  cafe  I  have  ever  seen,  and 
far  more  brilliant  than  either  the  Waldorf  in  New  York 
or  the  Ritz  where  I  am  staying.  There  are  three  stories. 
The  furniture  on  the  first  floor  is  upholstered  in  plush, 
like  our  family  pew  in  the  church  at  home.  Other  people 
were  entering  as  we  arrived.  We  followed  them  up  the 
long  flight  of  stairs,  and  turning  to  the  right  sat  down 
upon  one  of  the  red  seats  running  along  the  wall,  with  a 
table  in  front  of  it. 

"  We  shall  have  to  do  the  same  as  other  people,  Eliza," 
I  whispered,  when  the  waiter  told  us  that  they  served  noth- 
ing but  champagne.  I  ordered  a  bottle,  and  looked  about. 
I  never  felt  so  grown  up  before. 

Ever  so  many  people  sat  at  a  long  table,  and  among 
them  one  girl  especially  attracted  my  attention.  I  could 


4  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

scarcely  take  my  eyes  from  her.  She  wore  no  hat,  and 
her  dress  glittered  with  spangles.  I  thought  it  the  pret- 
tiest dress  in  the  room;  and  I  shouldn't  mind  having  one 
like  it,  only  I  should  have  it  made  longer.  She  drank 
three  glasses  of  champagne  one  after  the  other.  When 
ours  was  brought,  I  poured  two  glasses,  and  tasted  mine, 
although  Eliza  was  looking  sourly  at  me  from  the  tail  of 
her  eye. 

"  Drink  yours,  Eliza,"  I  coaxed.     "  It's  very  sweet." 

"  I  should  expect  to  be  roasted  by  the  devil  if  I  did, 
Miss  Phyllis  —  and  now  that  you  have  seen  this  place  will 
you  come  back  to  the  hotel?  " 

"  Not  until  I  have  seen  more,  Eliza.  Don't  tease  — 
there's  a  dear ! " 

After  that  we  were  silent,  and  I  noticed  that  Eliza  had 
set  her  jaw  hard.  She  glared  fiercely  at  the  other  occu- 
pants of  the  room,  and  shuddered  as  her  respectable  eyes 
took  in  the  toilettes  of  the  women.  She  pushed  her  glass 
farther  away,  simply  refusing  to  lift  it  to  her  lips. 

Presently  the  girl  with  the  spangled  dress  asked  a  dark 
man  to  dance  with  her.  They  walked  to  the  end  of  the 
room,  and  went  through  some  curious  dances  which  placed 
the  body  in  what  I  considered  awkward  postures,  although 
I  suppose  it  was  one  of  the  peculiar  ideas  the  French  have 
of  a  dance. 

Among  the  people  I  noticed  some  men  so  small  in  stature 
that  they  looked  like  boys.  They  wore  knee  breeches,  and 
one  dressed  in  green  reminded  me  of  a  fat  caterpillar. 
Eliza  said  he  looked  like  a  heathenish  doll.  His  lips  were 
reddened  into  a  clearly  defined  cupid's  bow,  and  his  cheeks 
were  highly  rouged.  His  eyelashes  had  little  black  knobs 
attached  to  the  ends  of  them  which  I  supposed  were  in- 
tended to  cast  a  shadow  upon  his  cheek.  He  danced  once 
with  the  girl  in  the  spangled  dress  and  twice  with  a  man 
in  a  red  costume.  After  that  he  came  up  to  our  table. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  5 

"  Do  you  want  all  your  wine,  Mademoiselle  ?  "  he  asked 
in  fairly  good  English,  and  I  replied: 

"  No,  we've  finished.     Please  help  yourself." 

He  thanked  me,  and  drank  Eliza's  champagne.  The 
girl  in  the  spangled  dress  came  up  too  and,  putting  her 
arm  round  his  shoulder,  reached  over  and  took  all  that 
was  left  in  the  bottle.  How  much  this  shocked  Eliza  was 
plainly  written  upon  her  mortified  face.  She  gathered 
her  skirts  tightly  about  her,  and  shrank  back  against  the 
wall  as  if  afraid  the  swishing  orange-colored  dress  would 
bite  her ;  but  I  think  she  was  relieved  to  see  the  wine  go. 

Presently  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  said  firmly,  "  For  a 
girl  only  seventeen  you're  very  forward,  Miss  Phyllis.  If 
you  don't  come  home  now,  I  shall  go  back  to  America  to- 
morrow." 

I  was  obliged  to  follow  her  out,  and  in  the  cab  she 
cried.  Then  I  really  was  repentant,  and  felt  that  in  drag- 
ging her  out  against  her  will  I  had  done  wrong.  So  I 
comforted  her  by  promising  that  I  would  never  do  it  again. 

What  a  round  of  excitement  I've  had  for  two  weeks ! 
Oh,  why  did  I  tease  Colonel  Coster  into  allowing  me  to 
come  to  Paris?  But  I  was  so  full  of  hope,  of  belief  in 
myself.  I  wanted  to  learn  to  sing  so  that  everybody,  and 
one  man  in  particular,  would  listen  lost  in  admiration.  I 
do  want  to  make  Roger  Everard  proud  of  me  some  day ; 
but  tonight  I  want  to  be  back  in  America.  I  believe  that  if 
the  dear,  good  old  Colonel  came  into  the  room  this  minute 
I'd  kiss  his  bald  head.  But  I  have  nobody  to  blame  but 
myself.  I  think  my  headstrong  ways  come  from  a  certain 
bad  kink  in  my  nature. 

Aunty  once  said,  "  Phyllis,  you  ought  to  try  and  be 
more  reserved,  less  impulsive,  more  like  other  New  Eng- 
land girls." 

"  I  can't,"1  I  replied.     "  I'm  like  my  father,  and  he  was 


6  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Irish.     Haven't  I  his  curly  black  hair,  his  blue  eyes,  and 
his  strong  white  teeth?  " 

Aunty  sighed,  and  ever  afterward  placed  to  my  Irish 
blood  every  rash  thing  I  did. 

•  ••••••• 

I  fancy  the  reason  that  I'm  so  lonely  is  that  Eliza  has 
gone  back  to  America.  Poor  Eliza!  She  disliked  to 
leave  me;  but  when  one  has  a  dying  sister  duty  makes  it 
imperative  to  go  to  her.  Eliza  wouldn't  have  gone  for 
any  other  reason.  I  shall  soon  find  someone  else,  perhaps 
a  French  maid.  Countess  Larodi  told  me  not  to  be  in  a 
hurry:  she'd  help  me  find  a  suitable  companion.  But  I 
want  to  go  home,  even  without  carrying  out  my  ambitions. 

The  reason  I  stopped  writing  was  that  the  maid  an- 
nounced Madame  the  Countess  Larodi.  I  felt  quite 
ashamed  to  go  to  her  with  red  eyes ;  but  she  didn't  seem  to 
notice  them.  Her  son  was  with  her.  I  don't  like  French 
Counts  nor  the  impertinent  way  in  which  they  kiss  your 
hand.  Fancy  an  American  kissing  one's  hand! 

I  suppose  I  should  never  have  known  any  French 
Counts  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Aunty's  and  Uncle's  money 
and  the  prestige  I  possess  just  because  Colonel  Coster  is 
my  guardian.  I  am  sure  that  is  why  the  Count  and  his 
mother  called  at  the  hotel  this  afternoon.  I  never  knew 
before  that  I  really  amounted  to  so  much,  although  I  have 
a  secret  notion  it  is  my  money  that  made  them  anxious  for 
my  friendship ;  for,  after  all,  I  am  only  a  girl,  and  I  don't 
understand  enough  French  to  converse  with  them.  But, 
never  mind,  I'm  glad  I've  got  the  money,  and  some  day, 
when  I'm  older  and  can  sing,  I'll  go  out  and  conquer  the 
world. 

Countess  Larodi  says  it  isn't  just  the  thing  for  a  girl 
to  live  alone  in  a  hotel,  especially  if  she  is  going  to  stay 
in  Paris  a  long  time.  So  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  give 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  7 

up  this  little  suite  of  rooms.  I  like  Paris  better  than  I 
did ;  but  I  still  feel  a  little  like  a  homing  pigeon  that  has 
forgotten  its  way.  Uncle  used  to  keep  pigeons  in  the 
dear  old  days.  Once  one  flew  out  and  never  came  back. 
I've  always  wondered  what  became  of  it.  Poor  thing,  I 
know  now  how  it  felt  when  it  was  longing  for  home. 

•  ••••••• 

Paris,  beautiful  romantic  Paris,  toward  which  my  eyes 
have  turned  since  childhood!  Paris,  the  city  of  art  and 
beauty,  where  I  shall  make  my  voice  lovely  enough  to  please 
all  men  and  women,  and  to  please  Roger  Everard;  for 
really  it  is  just  to  please  him  that  I  desire  to  reach  the 
heights  of  my  ambition! 

Aunty  used  to  say,  "  Child,  profit  by  the  experience  of 
others,  and  don't  fall  in  love  with  any  man.  It's  the  ru- 
ination of  a  woman's  life  and  hopes.  Remember  the  ter- 
rors of  your  Aunt  Ruth's  life,  and  your  own  mother's 
troubles  with  your  handsome  Irish  father." 

Then  I  would  look  slyly  at  her  and  answer  with  a  ques- 
tion, "How  about  you  and  Uncle,  Aunty?"  For  they 
were  two  of  the  happiest  dears  on  earth. 

And  Aunty  would  say,  *'  You  will  never  get  a  man  as 
good  as  your  uncle  as  long  as  you  live." 

•  ••••••• 

I  am  beside  myself  with  happiness;  for  I  have  seen 
Marquise,  the  greatest  singing  mistress  in  the  world,  and 
she  says  my  voice  is  wonderfully  sweet.  But  she  looked 
over  her  glasses  at  me  and  said: 

"  Child,  you'll  have  to  suffer  to  sing ! " 

What  did  she  mean?  I  wonder.  It  makes  me  shiver 
when  I  think  of  suffering.  I  can't  even  bear  to  cut  my 
finger  or  to  knock  my  elbow  against  anything.  Pain 
makes  me  faint  and  ill.  I  wonder  what  I  must  endure  be- 
fore I  shall  be  able  to  sing?  Still,  suffering  would  be  a 


8  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

little  thing  if  I  could  obtain  fame  and  success  and  so  win 
his  approbation.  How  strange  that  a  girl  can  feel  to- 
ward a  man  as  I  do  toward  Roger  Everard  when  she  has 
seen  him  only  a  few  times !  I  think  it  is  because  he  is 
good  and  so  different  from  other  men.  When  Aunty  saw 
him,  she  said: 

"  For  so  young  a  man  he's  quite  wonderful, —  such  a 
carriage  and  such  an  earnest  face !  I  do  like  to  see  a 
young  man  religious,  too." 

It  would  be  queer  if  I  should  marry  an  artist,  and  a  re- 
ligious one  at  that;  for  I  haven't  got  the  serious,  godly 
sense.  In  fact,  I  don't  know  what  I  do  believe.  I  know 
one  thing,  that  I  love  the  whole  world, —  everybody  and 
everything ;  men,  women,  and  children,  especially  babies ; 
cats  and  dogs  and  cows;  toads  and  snakes  —  well,  just 
everything  that  has  life.  That's  my  religion,  I  believe ! 
I  suppose  that  if  I  should  dig  deep  down  in  my  heart,  I'd 
find  a  belief  of  some  sort ;  but  to  me  churches  and  the  like 
are  always  associated  with  old  age  and  death.  And  I  want 
to  live  and  love  and  be  loved  always,  always !  I  wonder 
what  Roger  is  doing  now? 

•  *••*••• 

I  have  been  so  busy  that  I  have  not  written  for  ten  days. 
I  believe  that  Casperone  Larodi  is  going  to  ask  me  to 
marry  him.  His  mother  is  an  American,  and  was  married 
when  very  young  to  a  French  Count  who  squandered  her 
fortune.  She  came  from  a  Quaker  family  in  Philadelphia ; 
but  she  has  lost  every  tendency  to  Quakerism  she  ever  had, 
for  now  she  uses  decidedly  red  rouge  and  wears  a  wig,  and 
when  she  grows  vivacious  the  little  pink  feather  that  deco- 
rates her  false  hair  bobs  fitfully  to  and  fro.  I  have  no- 
ticed that  all  Frenchwomen,  when  somewhat  old,  frou-frou 
themselves  to  look  younger.  I  suppose  it  is  excusable; 
for  it  must  be  dreadful  to  be  thirty  and  have  to  be  con- 
tinually thinking  of  wrinkles.  Yet  I  ought  to  be  ashamed 


9 

to  write  this ;  for  it  was  kind  of  her  to  take  me  to  the  opera 
last  night. 

I  don't  believe  that  I  shall  ever  marry,  unless  Roger 
Everard  asks  me  —  somehow  I  feel  certain  that  I  could 
love  him  devotedly,  just  as  my  poor  dead  mother  loved 
my  father,  and  as  Aunty  loved  Uncle.  How  many  times 
I  have  heard  Aunty's  low  voice  coming  out  of  the  darkness 
on  winter  nights,  during  that  last  sad  illness  of  Uncle's, 
hushing  his  moans  with  the  same  little  song !  Her  teeth 
chattered  with  the  cold;  but  the  song  never  ceased.  She 
couldn't  have  lived  through  those  sleepless  nights  if  she 
hadn't  loved  him  —  the  thought  of  them  brings  tears  to 
my  eyes.  Aunty  must  have  loved  Uncle, —  she  must  have ! 
—  and  I  am  sure  that  he  loved  her,  though  he  used  to  call 
her  "  a  good  old  soul." 

•  «««•••• 

The  Countess  looked  sharply  at  me  when  I  told  her  I 
was  going  to  motor  in  the  Bois  with  a  friend  of  her  son's. 

"  I  will  speak  English  very  slowly,  so  he  will  be  able  to 
understand  me,"  I  said  in  explanation.  "  You  know  in 
America  girls  can  always  ride  with  men  friends." 

"  American  girls  are  too  rapid,"  she  said  severely. 
"  Before  they  are  out  of  their  teens  they  read  all  sorts 
of  books,  learn  more  than  they  should,  and  go  about  too 
often  unchaperoned.  We  in  this  country  give  those  liber- 
ties to  married  women, —  if  you  want  a  good  French  hus- 
band you  must  live  in  accordance  with  French  customs. 
Profit  by  my  experiences,  my  dear." 

I  didn't  tell  her  that  I  didn't  care  a  fig  for  French  cus- 
toms ;  that  if  I  married  it  would  be  to  an  American. 

I  mean  to  ride  with  Count  Larodi's  friend  in  the  Bois; 
for  he  said  he  had  something  important  to  ask  me,  and 
I  am  curious  to  find  out  what  it  is.  I  haven't  told  any- 
one ;  but  I  don't  care  for  the  Countess  nor  any  of  her 
friends.  They  seem  to  have  no  aim  in  life.  I  wish  I 


10  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

could  meet  the  real  people  of  Paris.  The  Countess  makes 
me  so  uncomfortable  by  her  patronizing  ways  I  Her  son 
says  he  thinks  girls  ought  to  be  allowed  to  go  about  here 
the  same  as  they  do  in  America.  He.  told  me  that  if  his 
mother  didn't  discover  it  we  should  make  many  little  trips 
together  in  the  Bois. 

•  •  •  *  •  »  •  '        • 

I  didn't  write  any.  more  yesterday,  because  I  went  mo- 
toring with  the  Count  de  Grimaud  in  a  car  that  he  said 
he  had  only  recently  purchased.  It  was  such  a  funny  ex- 
perience !  The  automobile  was  a  lovely  red  one.  It  had  a 
little  iron  flag  sticking  straight  up  in  the  air  with  the  one 
word  "  Libre "  on  it.  When  we  started,  the  chauffeur 
pushed  it  down,  and  up  came  some  figures.  I  have  an  idea 
it  was  an  arrangement  that  indicated  the  number  of  miles 
•we  drove. 

When  the  Count  asked  me  in  faltering  English  if  I 
ididn't  think  this  was  the  most  beautiful  drive  I  had  ever 
taken,  my  mind  buried  itself  in  memories  of  New  England, 
with  its  valleys  and  hills,  its  magnificent  old  elms  and 
sleepy  rivers.  Oh,  yes !  there  are  other  places  quite  as 
beautiful  as  the  Paris  Bois. 

My  companion  showed  by  his  manner  that  he  was 
pleased  with  my  appearance.  I  knew  I  looked  well  in  my 
fresh  muslin  dress  and  my  hat  covered  with  flowers  the 
color  of  my  frock.  My  shoes,  too,  were  of  the  same 
shade.  De  Grimaud's  eyes  were  half-closed,  and  after 
awhile  he  reached  over  and  took  my  hand.  I  suddenly  re- 
alized what  he  was  doing  and  drew  my  fingers  away.  He 
pretended  to  be  dreadfully  hurt. 

We  sped  out  into  the  country,  the  trees  flying  by  as  if 
they  were  on  wings,  and  the  figures  on  the  little  machine 
in  front  of  us  constantly  changing  like  lightning  flashes. 
No  automobile  ever  made  so  many  miles  in  so  short  a  time. 
I  can  understand  why  the  French  people  plume  themselves 


11 

about  their  Bois ;  for  one  leaves  the  city  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes is  surrounded  by  nothing  but  trees  and  natural  scen- 
ery. 

Suddenly  Monsieur  de  Grimaud  said  in  a  sympathetic 
voice,  "  Mademoiselle  is  without  relations,  is  she  not  ?  " 

I  felt  a  quick  pain  as  I  thought  of  Aunty,  and  answered, 
**  Yes,  I  am  practically  alone  now." 

"  But  you  are  rich  —  you  will  never  want  friends."  He 
looked  at  me  as  if  half  anticipating  a  denial. 

"  Yes,  I  am  rich,  I  suppose.  My  aunt  left  me  all  of 
her  money  when  she  died.  Darling  old  Aunty !  " 

He  sighed  and  gradually  got  nearer  to  me.  I  edged 
back  into  the  corner. 

"  America  is  a  very  rich  country  —  I  know  it,  I  know 
it ! "  said  Monsieur  de  Grimaud  with  another  laugh.  He 
took  my  hand  again  and  almost  whispered,  "  I  love  the 
Americans  —  ah,  I  love  you !  "  Then  he  went  on  inco- 
herently, snatching  my  fingers.  "  I  like  American  women 
much.  Like  French  women,  no;  Italian  women,  no;  but 
American  women  —  Mon  Dleu!  Mon  Dieul  I  love  them, 
I  love  them ! " 

I  made  an  effort  to  disengage  my  hand.  He  said  that 
my  face  attracted  him.  This  made  my  cheeks  burn  hotly. 

"You  will  love  me,  won't  you?"  he  exclaimed.  His 
fingers  wandered  slowly,  almost  dissectingly,  over  my 
arms.  "  I  love  you !  I  want  you !  Oh,  Frenchmen 
know  how  to  love!  Yes,  beautiful  American  woman,  we 
know  how!  Your  countrymen  live  but  to  make  money. 
They  do  not  love." 

I  didn't  wish  him  to  touch  me,  so  I  tried  to  slip  my  arm 
from  his  long  white  fingers;  but  he,  thinking  I  liked  it, 
still  persisted  as  he  said: 

"  We  love  you,  we  Frenchmen.  You  have  much  charm, 
much  —  much  — "  But  before  he  could  say  another  word, 
I  finished  sweetly,  "  Much  money." 


12  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

A.. 

*'  Om,  oul  —  oh,  much  money  \ " 

"  Please  do  not  put  your  hands  on  me  again,"  I  said, 
"  and  allow  me  a  little  more  room."  I  sat  up  straight. 

Now  I  understand  why  it  is  that  young  women  in  France 
are  not  allowed  to  go  out  alone  with  their  countrymen. 
The  men  are  much  too  familiar,  and  crush  one's  dresses. 

After  imploring  in  vain  for  one  little  kiss,  he  asked  me 
if  I  would  go  motoring  with  him  tomorrow,  and  I  said 
quietly  and  in  very  plain  English: 

"  Not  for  anything  in  all  the  world.  Nothing  could 
ever  tempt  me  to  go  out  with  you  again.  I  want  to  go 
home." 

"  Bon,  bon,  bon!  "  he  shouted,  and  gave  an  order  to  the 
chauffeur  to  go  back.  He  evidently  mistook  what  I  said 
for  an  assurance  that  I  would  go  again  with  him;  for  I 
know  that  "  Bon,  bon,  bon!  "  means  "  Good,  good,  good ! " 
I  was  not  very  cordial,  nor  did  I  care  for  the  signs  of 
love  in  his  rolling  eyes. 

At  the  hotel  I  left  him  with  a  curt  nod. 

•  *•••••• 

I'm  sorry  now  that  I  never  learned  French.  Of  course, 
I  know  a  few  expressions.  I've  picked  them  up  here  and 
there.  Mr.  Greenaway,  my  tutor,  had  never  studied  the 
language  himself,  and  there  was  no  one  else  in  our  village 
with  any  pretentious  to  schooling.  Aunty  thought  Mr. 
Greenaway,  who  could  read  Hebrew  as  easily  as  most  men 
read  English,  could  give  me  a  better  education  than  any 
modern  governess.  And  in  a  way  she  was  right;  for  he 
gave  me  a  knowledge  of  the  old  classics  that  few  girls 
who  have  been  to  a  fashionable  boarding  school  possess. 
But,  unfortunately  for  me,  French  did  not  come  into  the 
dear  old  man's  curriculum,  and  I  am  here  in  a  French  city 
without  being  able  to  speak  intelligibly  in  any  other 
language  than  my  own. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  13 

Two  weeks  ago  I  made  a  resolution  to  write  a  little 
every  day,  for  I  want  to  be  able  to  call  back  my  happen- 
ings in  Paris ;  but,  since  my  account  of  the  Bois,  I  haven't 
had  time  to  write  a  word. 

Count  Larodi  has  asked  me  to  marry  him  six  different 
times.  He's  rather  nice  —  I  almost  believe  that  he  likes 
me  a  little.  He  has  shown  me  a  great  deal  of  Paris, — • 
the  different  hotels  and  theaters,  and  once  we  went  to  Chan- 
tiny, —  but  he  has  never  allowed  me  to  sit  outside  in  the 
little  chairs  in  front  of  the  teahouses  and  cafes  to  watch 
the  people  as  they  go  by.  It  would  be  such  a  novel  thing 
if  I  could;  but  Count  Larodi  is  deaf  to  my  appeals.  He 
says  it's  not  the  thing  for  a  young  girl  to  be  seen  outside, 
sipping  tea. 

I  hear  French  on  all  sides  of  me;  but  I  don't  understand 
it.  However,  in  a  few  days  I  am  to  begin  to  study  it, 
and  I  shall  use  every  word  I  learn  every  day.  That's  the 
only  way,  they  say,  to  learn  a  language. 

Count  Larodi's  mother  said  that  her  eldest  son  married 
a  very  rich  American  girl.  They  showed  me  her  photo, 
and  the  Countess  seemed  to  be  proud  of  her  beauty  and 
wealth.  It  must  be  dreadful  to  love  a  man  and  have  him 
marry  you  for  the  dot  you  bring  him. 


CHAPTER  II 

IT'S  almost  six  weeks  since  I've  looked  into  this  book 
—  and  Uncle's  money  is  lost  and  Colonel  Coster  is 
dead.     I  never  realized  that  a  girl  could  be  so  miser- 
able because  of  money. 

This  morning  I  went  to  the  bank  to  present  my  letter 
of  credit,  and  the  cashier  fingered  it  thoughtfully  for  a 
moment. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  "  but  we  can't 
honor  this  paper.  We've  received  news  from  America 
that  the  bank  of  which  Colonel  Coster  was  president  has 
closed  its  doors.  He  has  committed  suicide." 

I  stood  powerless  to  utter  a  word. 

"  He  made  unwise  speculations,"  went  on  the  bank  man. 
"  It  was  unfortunate  — " 

"  I  don't  understand,"  I  gasped.  "  Colonel  Coster  was 
my  uncle's  most  trusted  adviser.  But  —  but  — "  my  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  "  Tell  me  —  oh,  tell  me,  please,  about  his 
death ! " 

"  That  he  committed  suicide,  Mademoiselle,  is  all  I 
know.  Your  letter  of  credit  is  useless." 

He  shoved  it  through  the  window  opening,  and  I  went 
out. 

I  walked  along  Rue  de  la  Paix,  and  mechanically 
stopped  before  a  window  and  looked  in  at  the  blazing  dia- 
monds. A  man  peered  out  upon  me,  and  I  turned  ab- 
ruptly away  as  he  looked  at  my  reddened  eyes.  I've  never 
studied  the  financial  question  of  a  country,  and  I  don't 
understand  how  a  bank  could  lose  money;  that  is,  such  a 
lot  as  I  had. 

14 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  15 

The  whole  of  Paris  had  changed  in  a  few  moments. 
Place  Vendome  seemed  to  shrink  into  a  circle  too  small  for 
upright  people  to  walk-  through.  The  buildings  looked 
abominably  low-sized,  under-made,  and  mean. 

I  suppose  the  porter  at  the  hotel  smiled  as  usual ;  but  in 
my  overwrought  brain  I  imagined  he  grinned,  and  I  had 
never  noticed  before  that  he  was  so  small  and  bandy- 
legged. In  my  room  I  stood  before  the  glass  for  a  few 
moments,  to  inspect  the  new  girl  reflected  in  it, —  a  girl 
without  money,  without  friends.  It  was  only  yesterday  — 
nay,  even  this  morning,  before  going  to  the  bank  —  that  I 
had  been  buoyantly  happy  in  beautiful  Paris,  and  now  I 
am  wondering  how  I  can  get  back  to  America  without 
money. 

•  ;•••...«• 

"  You  have  lost  your  fortune,  Miss  Fitzpatrick? " 
Countess  Larodi  looked  over  my  head  at  the  opposite  cor- 
ner as  she  spoke.  She  had  invited  me  to  the  five  o'clock. 

I  nodded,  tears  choking  my  utterance. 

"  America  is  a  stupid  place,"  she  continued  in  a  hard 
tone. 

"  No,  no,  not  that !  "  I  cried. 

"You  will  return  home?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered  dully,  almost  hopelessly. 

I  had  had  a  hope  that  the  Countess  would  be  kind  to 
me;  for  I  longed  for  a  woman's  sympathy. 

"  The  papers  said  this  morning  that  your  money  will 
never  be  recovered;  that  you  will  be  entirely  without 
funds." 

"  Please,  please ! "  I  stammered,  and  hid  my  head  and 
wept  as  only  a  girl  in  Paris  with  scarcely  a  sou  is  able  to 
weep. 

"Will  you  have  tea?"  she  asked  not  unkindly. 

I  took  the  cup,  and  choked  down  the  bitter  stuff.  I've 
always  hated  tea.  At  that  moment  Casperone  came  in 


16  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

gloomily  and  seated  himself.  His  mother  gave  him  an 
order  with  authoritative  plainness. 

"  You  dine  tonight  with  Baronesse  Salsladie,"  said  she. 

"  I  can't."  And  he  gave  a  significant  glance  at  me.  I 
knew  what  it  meant,  and  the  blood  rushed  into  my  face. 
In  an  instant  I  had  learned  the  lesson  of  a  lifetime. 

"  If  you  have  an  appointment  with  Mademoiselle  Fitz- 
patrick  this  evening,  she  will  excuse  you,"  insisted  the 
Countess,  and  again  I  nodded  my  head. 

Rising,  I  quickly  took  my  leave;  but  not  before  Cas- 
perone  had  whispered: 

"  I  shall  never  forgive  you  if  you  do  not  keep  your 
appointment  with  me  this  evening.  I've  many  things  to 
talk  over  with  you." 

It  eased  my  heart  to  hear  him  speak  so.  I  would  dine 
with  him  in  spite  of  his  austere  parent! 

"  Your  mother  — "  I  began,  and  dropped  my  eyes. 

"  My  mother  doesn't  rule  me,"  he  replied  as  he  placed 
me  in  the  cab.  "  Meet  me  —  understand?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered.  "  I  meant  to  meet  you  all  the 
time." 

In  my  room  I  took  my  purse  from  my  pocket,  and 
counted  the  money  over  like  a  miser.  Twelve  francs  in 
silver,  ten  in  gold,  and  a  fifty-franc  note.  It  would  take 
this  and  the  money  realized  on  my  jewels  to  pay  my  hotel 
bill  and  the  debts  I  had  contracted  by  the  advice  of  the 
Countess.  I  shall  be  absolutely  without  money.  Yester- 
day this  was  the  price  of  a  bit  of  lace,  of  a  few  trinkets, 
or  a  day's  trip  to  Fontainebleau ;  but  today  it's  every  sou 
I  possess  in  the  world.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  going  to  a 
funeral,  the  funeral  of  my  own  happiness,  instead  of  to  a 
dinner  with  Casperone.  Phyllis  Fitzpatrick,  the  heiress, 
was  dead!  I  was  now  Phyllis  Fitzpatrick,  the  penniless 
orphan ! 

The  gown  I  selected  to  wear  to  the  dinner  was  a  black 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  17 

crepe  de  chine.  I  had  been  told  that  it  was  too  old  look- 
ing for  a  young  girl  like  myself;  but  tonight  it  seemed 
suitable:  I  had  grown  older  in  a  few  hours. 

Much  as  I  distrusted  Count  Larodi,  I  felt  a  warmth  in 
his  sympathy  and  a  satisfaction  at  his  defiance  of  his 
mother.  But  his  first  words  recalled  my  misgivings. 

"  Are  you  sure,"  he  asked,  "  that  your  money  is  gone?  " 

I  bowed  my  head.  He  would  have  stood  higher  in  my 
estimation  had  he  waited  awhile,  and  I  was  —  oh,  so  miser- 
able! He  noticed  my  agitation,  and  refrained  from  ask- 
ing more. 

When  dinner  was  finished,  he  twirled  his  little  black 
mustache  and  looked  at  me  dubiously. 

"  Let's  go  outside  somewhere  for  coffee,"  he  suggested. 

"Where?"  I  asked  dully. 

"  Cafe  de  la  Paix,  or  somewhere  else." 

"  I  thought,"  I  objected,  flushing,  "  that  it  was  unusual 
for  a  young  girl  to  sit  outside  a  cafe?  " 

"  Oh,  it  will  do,"  he  drawled,  and  I  followed  him  in 
silence. 

A  boy,  madly  waving  his  arms,  shouting  a  monologue  in 
French,  ran  to  and  fro  on  Boulevard  des  Capucines.  He 
had  a  funny  little  way  of  pulling  down  his  cornered  hat 
that  made  him  resemble  Napoleon,  whom  he  was  admirably 
imitating. 

Casperone,  looking  thin  and  dark,  so  unlike  our  hand- 
some Americans,  silently  studied  my  face  as  I  watched  the 
boy.  Suddenly  he  spoke  to  me. 

"  You  look  charming  tonight."  His  eyes  traveled  fur- 
tively over  my  black  costume.  "  I  can  scarcely  keep  my 
hands  from  you,"  he  finished  abruptly. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  spoken  like  this,  and  I  flushed 
in  confusion.  Trying  not  to  heed  his  admiration,  I  par- 
ried vaguely,  "  There  are  many  charming  women  passing 
all  the  time," 


18 

"  But  they  are  not  like  you,"  he  insisted.  *4  There  is 
something  about  you,  Phyllis,  that  sets  my  soul  on  fire." 

"  Hush !  "  I  commanded.  "  I  want  to  watch  that  boy's 
imitation  of  Napoleon." 

Casperone  breathed  something  that  sounded  like  an  oath, 
and  angrily  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  like  you  very] 
much,"  he  said  after  a  pause. 

The  boy  had  disappeared  with  his  hand  full  of  sous. 

"  So  you  told  me  before,"  I  replied  simply,  and  then  I 
went  on,  "  That's  such  a  pretty  girl !  "  I  nodded  toward 
a  slight  figure  on  the  pavement,  more  for  the  purpose  of 
changing  the  subject  than  for  any  other  reason.  "  Look! 
Isn't  she  pretty?" 

"  Cocotte !  "  breathed  Casperone. 

"Is  that  her  name?  "  I  asked.     "Do  you  know  her?" 

He  smiled.     "  A  little." 

"  Cocotte?     She  has  a  pretty  name,  too." 

"  That's  not  her  name :  that's  what  she  is." 

Casperone's  white  teeth  gleamed  through  the  cigarette 
smoke.  The  girl's  eyes  were  roving  searchingly  over  the 
tables  filled  with  people.  The  white  and  pink  skin  was 
unwrinkled.  The  deep,  velvety  eyes  looked  inquiringly, 
almost  babyishly,  about.  Then,  not  finding  whom  she 
sought,  she  moved  on. 

"You  say,  « That's  what  she  is.'  What  is  she?"  I 
asked.  "  I  have  seldom  seen  a  woman  so  beautiful." 

"  You  haven't  been  in  Paris  long,"  he  replied.  "  A 
cocotte?  Well,  a  cocotte  is  a  —  what  do  you  call  it  in 
America?  —  a  cocotte  is  a  cloak  model,  and  she's  a  famous 
one."  He  laughed  softly,  eying  me  through  narrowed  lids. 

"  Oh,"  I  hesitated,  "  do  cloak  models  make  much  money 
in  Paris  ?  " 

"  I  believe  they  do,"  replied  Casperone,  becoming  grave. 
"  I  believe  they  do." 

"  Do  they  have  to  speak  French?  " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  19 

He  would  have  noticed  the  eagerness  in  my  tones  if  he 
hadn't  been  tearing  away  at  the  end  of  a  cigarette.  "  It 
isn't  necessary,"  he  drawled ;  "  but  most  of  them  do." 

"  Is  there  a  shop  where  they  work?  " 

He  laughed  again.     "  Yes." 

"Do  they  all  have  such  beautiful  figures?"  My  eyes 
were  still  straining  through  the  glare  of  the  bright  elec- 
tric light  after  the  receding  figure  of  the  lovely  cloak 
model. 

"  Yes." 

"And  all  pretty?" 

"Oui,  oui!" 

"  Where  are  the  shops  where  the  models  work  ?  " 

"  On  every  Boulevard  in  Paris,"  Casperone  snapped. 
His  voice  was  getting  raspy,  with  a  little  French  snarl  in. 
it. 

"  But,"  I  insisted,  "  where  on  the  boulevards  are  the 
shops,  and  what  are  their  names?" 

My  persistence  seemed  to  anger  him,  and  he  laughed 
sarcastically.  "  Oh,  if  you're  thinking  of  trying  for  a 
place,  just  ask  for  a  cloak  model  shop  —  and  —  well,  a 
cloak  that  would  fit  that  figure  of  yours  —  ah,  Mon 
Dieu!  "  Casperone's  eyes  grew  soft  with  midnight  black- 
ness; but  he  embarrassed  me  by  thrusting  his  face  near 
mine.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  breathed.  "  I  love 
you !  I  love  you !  " 

"  Without  any  money  ?  "  I  asked.  A  sob  caught  my 
throat  as  I  forced  a  laugh  that  was  nearer  a  groan  to  my 
lips. 

"  Well,"  he  hesitated,  "  it  makes  some  difference,  I  must 
say.  Not  that  I  love  you  less,  though.  A  Frenchman 
can't  marry  a  woman  without  a  dot.  You  see,  your  voice 
is  worth  a  lot;  though  to  train  it  you  must  have  money. 
But  the  failure  of  the  bank  doesn't  mean  that  you  and  I 
—  ah  —  can't  be  friends." 


20 

I  looked  at  him  curiously,  fearfully.  Friends !  And  lie 
had  asked  me  to  marry  him  every  day  for  a  week!  I 
hadn't  allowed  myself  to  think  of  the  future.  Of  course, 
without  my  monthly  allowance,  lessons  would  be  out  of  the 
question.  My  voice  had  never  seemed  quite  so  precious, 
never  so  much  to  be  desired. 

The  boy  was  back  again  mimicking  Napoleon.  I  won- 
dered how  many  sous  he  had  earned.  His  fat  little  hand 
bulged  with  coins. 

Casperone  was  still  pulling  savagely  at  his  cigarette. 
"  I  said  we  could  be  friends,"  he  resumed  hurriedly.  "  I 
like  you  immensely  —  more  than  any  girl  I  know.  Phyl- 
lis, I  simply  can't  talk  to  you  here!  Couldn't  we  go  to 
my  rooms  for  a  quiet  little  chat?  " 

"  Would  you  ask  a  girl  to  —  to  your  rooms  —  a  girl 
whom  you  want  to  marry  ?  " 

I  didn't  recognize  my  own  voice.  It  mingled  harshly 
with  the  even-running  French  of  the  boy-Napoleon.  The 
crowd  was  laughing  at  his  antics,  while  I  was  biting  my 
lips  in  despair. 

"  I  want  to  go  home,"  I  cut  in  quickly.  "  Please  put 
me  in  a  cab.  I  don't  want  you  —  to  come  with  me !  " 

As  the  cab-horse  trotted  away,  Casperone  was  delicately 
twirling  the  tip  of  his  small  French  mustache,  and  I 
thought  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  regret  in  his  eyes. 

So  Casperone  has  gone  out  of  my  life  —  and  I  don't 
care !  He  has  made  no  impression  upon  my  heart.  All  I 
want  is  money  —  money  —  money  —  and  money  I  must 
have,  like  other  people,  whether  they  are  girls  or  not ! 
Tears  came  into  my  eyes  as  a  little  dog  shot  across  Place 
Vendome  after  a  woman  in  a  blue  robe.  She  picked  the 
little  fellow  up  in  her  arms  lovingly.  I  almost  wished  I 
were  a  little  dog. 

I  am  so  lonely  —  so  afraid !  Oh,  to  be  with  Eliza,  or 
someone  I  know !  "  Cloak  model "  keeps  ringing  in  my 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  21 

ears.  Casperone  seemed  to  think  that  on  account  of  my 
figure  I  ought  to  be  able  easily  to  get  a  place  as  one.  I 
haven't  qualifications  enough  to  be  a  governess.  If  every- 
thing else  fails,  I'll  try  for  a  cloak  model  position. 

My  rooms  seem  more  comfortable  than  ever.  The 
piano  with  the  book  of  scales  open  upon  it  makes  the 
tears  start  afresh. 

Yesterday  —  oh,  to  go  back  to  yesterday,  to  know  again 
the  feeling  of  security!  Soon  the  piano  will  be  gone, 
and  I  sha'n't  have  money  either  to  study  or  to  go  home 
with.  I  must  find  work  of  some  sort!  There's  an  awful 
feeling  in  my  heart  when  I  think  that  I  have  to  go  out 
alone  in  the  world  to  get  a  living.  But  now  I  am  going 
to  bed,  because  I  shall  have  to  start  early  tomorrow  morn- 
ing to  seek  employment.  There  must  be  something  for  a 
girl  to  do  in  Paris  I 


CHAPTER  III 

I'M  footsore  and  weary,  having  tramped  from  bureau 
to  bureau  in  search  of  employment  every  day  since 
learning  of  the  loss  of  my  fortune.  At  the  United 
States  consul's  office  the  man  in  charge  said  that  the  con- 
sul general  was  in  America  on  a  commission  of  some  sort. 
They  could  do  nothing  for  me. 

Two  Americans  committed  suicide  today!  All  this 
tragedy  comes  from  the  financial  turmoil  in  our  beloved 
country  —  America!  I  wonder  what  caused  it? 

The  piano  man  growled  fiercely  because  he  had  rented 
the  instrument  for  several  months  and  it  had  been  returned 
in  so  short  a  time. 

"  Like  all  you  Americans ! "  he  said  harshly.  "  It's 
bluff,  bluff,  bluff!" 

My  misery  restrained  me  from  retort:  I  had  no  spirit 
left  for  contention  or  resentment  of  indignities  to  which 
I  was  growing  accustomed.  I  turned  away,  struggling 
with  suppressed  emotions. 

Dear  God !  For  a  hundred  francs !  I'm  heartsick  with 
failure ! 

•  v  •  :•  •  •  •  :• 

I  came  to  the  Latin  Quarter,  discovered  a  renting 
agency,  and  asked  for  cheap  rooms. 

"I  want  a  suite  in  a  house  where  cocottes  live,"  I  ex- 
plained. 

The  man  understood,  and  brought  me  to  these  rooms 
on  Boulevard  St.  Michel.  As  everything  else  has  failed, 
I've  resolved  to  try  and  get  a  place  in  one  of  the  French 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  23 

shops.  It  may  be  the  "  Bon  Marche  " —  French  stores 
have  such  queer  names !  I  do  hope  that  I  shall  succeed ; 
for  this  morning  I  went  without  breakfast.  I've  pawned 
my  last  jewels  to  get  rent  money.  At  least  I've  discovered 
this:  that  gems  and  baubles  are  not  necessary  to  happi- 
ness. Food  and  a  bed  are! 

In  my  sleeping-room  corner  is  a  dressing  table.  The 
mirror,  brushes,  and  knickknacks  spread  upon  it  look  quite 
like  home.  To  find  this  place  took  me  many  wearisome 
days, —  days  of  starvation,  days  when  death  seemed  prefer- 
able to  life,  and  the  Seine  seemed  constantly  calling  me 
by  name. 

But  I  am  happier  tonight  —  I  appreciate  what  it 
means  to  be  in  a  little  place  of  my  own.  When  I  spoke 
of  getting  work  to  the  agent,  he  told  me  in  faltering  Eng- 
lish that  he  knew  nothing  of  the  cloak  model  shops;  but 
said  that  many  cocottes  lived  in  this  house.  And  I  be- 
lieve it  is  so ;  for  yesterday  about  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon I  heard  voices,  high  pitched  and  strained,  talking  in 
rapid  French  from  door  to  door.  The  girls  must  leave 
their  shops  early. 

I  went  out  this  morning  to  find  someone  who  could  speak 
English  fluently;  but  to  my  question  everyone  shook  his 
head,  and  I  thought  noses  went  up  at  my  efforts  to  make 
myself  understood.  Oh,  for  someone  to  help  me !  I  could 
almost  wish  for  Casperone,  if  it  were  not  for  my  pride. 

My  only  comfort,  so  far,  is  in  venting  out  my  heart 
upon  these  poor  little  blistered  pages.  It  is  a  relief  to 
write  about  my  troubles. 

I  remember  attending  a  small  church  when  I  was  a  little 
girl,  where  they  sang  a  hymn  that  I  had  forgotten  until 
today : 

"  Lead,  Kindly  Light,  Lead  Thou  me  on." 


24  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

I  wonder  if  God  will  lead  me,  and  if  there  is  really  such 
a  being,  and  —  and  —  if  He  will  help  me  to  be  a  cocotte  ? 
For  what's  the  use  of  a  God  if  He  doesn't  guide  you? 

•  ••••••• 

I  am  bewildered  with  troubled  thought.  I  haven't  a  sou 
left,  and  I'm  frantic  with  fear.  On  the  stairs  as  I  was 
going  out  this  afternoon  I  met  the  beautiful  cloak  model 
whom  I  pointed  out  to  Casperone  that  last  night  at  the 
Cafe  de  la  Paix.  I  smiled  pleasantly;  for  I  felt  that  I 
had  at  least  one  friend  in  the  house.  She  took  me  in  from 
head  to  foot,  her  soft,  velvety  eyes  filled  with  anger.  My 
face  was  red  when  I  reached  the  street  —  tears  blinded  me 
so  that  I  bumped  into  another  woman  coming  in.  I  was 
unable  to  express  my  apology  in  French. 

"  Oh,  pardon  me,"  I  said  in  my  mother  tongue. 

"  It  is  nozzing,"  she  replied,  and  I  wheeled  round. 

"  You  speak  English  ?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

"  A  leetle." 

"  And  you  live  here  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  So  do  I,"  I  went  on  rapidly,  fearing  that  she  would 
run  away  before  I  had  a  chance  to  ask  her  some  questions. 

"  Zat's  nice,"  she  said.  "  You  come  to  my  room  some 
day  —  tomorrow,  sure,  and  I  talk  English  weez  you. 
You  cocotte?  " 

I  nodded  "  Yes,"  and  supplemented  it  by  saying,  "  A 
cloak  model." 

She  shook  her  head  slowly,  her  eyes  gathering  an  ex- 
pression of  noncomprehension. 

"  You  haf  sweetheart  here  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  No,"  I  replied,  astonished. 

"  You  leetle  American  girl?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Poor  baby !     Come  see  me  tomorrow." 

From  her  purse  she  took  a  card  emblazoned  with  a  bird 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  25 

carrying  some  kind  of  message,  and  handed  it  to   me. 
After  wiping  away  the  silly  tears,  I  read: 

"  Message  de  V amour." 

I  did  not  know  what  it  meant.  I  shall  ask  her  when 
I  see  her.  Her  name  is  "  Captain  Zadie " —  nothing 
more. 

•  .  •  •  «  •  •  • 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  when  I  got  to  the  boulevard 
again ;  and  I  felt  as  though  I  had  found  friends,  for  the 
electric  lights  and  brilliant  advertisements  gave  it  the  fa- 
miliarity of  New  York. 

Once  or  twice  Frenchmen  spoke  to  me;  but  I  turned 
from  them  scornfully.  How  dare  such  creatures  accost 
a  decent  girl  in  the  street?  A  commotion  at  the  corner 
attracted  my  attention.  Two  women,  one  with  a  bleeding 
face,  were  being  separated  from  each  other  by  an  officer. 
I  couldn't  understand  the  rapid  French  that  was  being 
shouted  backward  to  the  eager  crowd.  As  I  turned  aside, 
the  woman  with  the  bruised  face  was  trying,  with  shaking 
hands,  to  pin  on  a  battered  hat.  I  remember  that  when  the 
bleeding  woman  had  gone  away  with  a  friend  I  felt  posi- 
tive that  the  two  had  been  quarreling  over  a  man.  I  have 
never  been  really  in  love.  It  must  be  a  dreadful  thing  to 
love  a  man  in  that  awful,  maddening  way. 

A  policeman  spoke  to  me  roughly. 

"  I'm  an  American  girl  —  I  don't  understand  you !  "  I 
said  slowly. 

He  touched  his  hat  and  turned  away.  A  strange,  sweet 
feeling  crept  over  me.  He  seemed,  at  least,  to  respect  my 
country. 

Not  one  of  the  shops  on  the  boulevard  looked  like  those 
I've  seen  on  Broadway ;  for  in  these  gaily  lighted  win- 
dows there  was  not  a  single  cloak.  Suddenly  I  noticed 
a  Frenchman  with  a  pointed  beard  coming  toward  me.  I 
would  ask  him  my  all-important  question.  Perhaps  this 


26  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

man  could  tell  me  where  I'd  be  able  to  locate  the  shops. 
I  stopped  him  by  a  gesture  of  my  hand.  He  looked  down 
upon  me ;  for  he  was  taller  than  his  countrymen. 

"  Where  are  the  shops  that  cocottes  work  in  ?  "  I  asked 
aloud.  My  voice  didn't  seem  natural. 

I  repeated  my  question,  enunciating  the  syllables  care- 
fully. Even  if  he  didn't  understand  the  English,  he  would 
gather  something  of  my  desire.  Instead  of  answering,  he 
took  his  hand  from  his  pocket  and  pushed  a  large  silver 
five-franc  piece  into  my  fingers.  He  was  gone  in  an  in- 
stant. 

For  a  moment  the  blood  leaped  to  my  face  like  a  surging 
tide  —  I  did  not  believe  my  eyes.  He  couldn't  have  un- 
derstood me.  No  doubt  he  thought  I  was  begging.  I 
turned  to  run  after  him ;  but  he  was  lost  in  the  crowd. 

Five  francs,  and  my  purse  empty!  In  bewilderment  I 
hurried  past  the  cafes  down  the  boulevard  with  the  strong, 
dark  face  of  the  foreigner  as  vivid  as  a  picture  before 
me.  Of  course,  he  had  not  understood,  or  he  wouldn't 
have  so  insulted  me ;  for  it  was  an  insult  for  a  man  to  throw 
money  at  a  woman  as  one  would  throw  a  bone  to  a  hungry 
dog.  But  he  was  gone  • —  and  tightly  pressed  between  my 
fingers  was  the  five-franc  piece. 

I  resolved  to  try  again  —  someone  else  might  under- 
stand. If  I  could  but  meet  an  American,  or  even  an  Eng- 
lishman, he  would,  perhaps,  be  able  to  tell  me  where  I 
should  inquire  for  the  work  that  would  bring  enough 
money  to  take  me  back  to  America. 

Near  the  end  of  the  boulevard  a  lonely  man  came  to- 
ward me.  He  was  not  walking  with  the  quick  jerks  of 
the  Frenchman.  There  was  something  English  about  his 
appearance  that  raised  hope  in  my  breast.  I  stopped  di- 
rectly in  front  of  him,  and  repeated  the  question  I  had  put 
to  the  first  man.  This  time  my  voice  sounded  more  like 
my  own.  The  man  came  to  an  abrupt  standstill. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  27 

I  said  it  over  again  a  little  timidly.  He  was  not  an 
Englishman,  after  all.  He  ran  his  glance  over  me. 

"  Cocotte?  "  he  said.     He  had  understood  at  last! 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  I  replied.  "  Cocotte,  cocotte  —  cloak 
model.  Tell  me  where  the  place  is,  please." 

"  Out,  oui,  oui!     Come  weez  me.     Thees  way." 

Even  to  hear,  a  word  of  English  gave  me  courage,  and 
I  turned  and  walked  at  his  side. 

He  put  his  hand  caressingly  upon  my  arm. 

"  Don't  touch  me,  please,"  I  said  nervously.  "  Please 
don't!" 

My  drawing  away  seemed  to  puzzle  him:  he  bent  for- 
ward and  looked  into  my  face.  "  D'Angleterre  ?  "  asked 
he. 

I  knew  what  that  meant,  because  I  always  wrote 
'*  England "  that  way  on  my  letters  to  some  people  in 
London. 

I  shook  my  head.  "  No,"  I  said,  "  American.  You 
are  taking  me  to  the  shop  where  I  can  get  work?  " 

"  Oui,  oui!     Thees  way,  thees  way !  " 

Following  him,  I  kept  to  the  edge  of  the  pavement.  I 
could  not  use  the  five  francs  so  questionably  received: 
it  was  not  mine.  Even  to  see  the  shops  where  I  could 
present  myself  early  the  next  morning  would  be  some  sat- 
isfaction. If  they  were  only  open,  and  the  manager 
should  engage  me,  then  I  could  borrow  money  from  the 
woman  in  the  back  room  on  the  strength  of  it,  and  go  out 
for  something  to  eat. 

My  guide  made  me  uncomfortable  by  his  furtive  eyes,  and 
if  I  turned  to  meet  his  gaze  he  would  either  drop  it  or 
raise  it,  humming  some  air.  We  turned  into  a  narrow 
dark  street  that  ran  up  the  short  hill  from  the  boulevard. 
I  could  see  no  stores ;  only  illy-lit  halls  and  narrow,  wind- 
ing stairways. 

We  paused  before  an  open  door,  and  again  the  white, 


28  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

effeminate  hand,  with  finely  polished  nails,   pressed  my 
arm. 

"  Is  it  here?  "  I  asked  doubtfully. 

"  Oui,  out! "  whispered  the  Frenchman.  "  Here  ees 
cadeau  for  you  —  money  —  good  cadeau.  Ah !  You  are 
ravishing ! " 

"  I  don't  want  money,"  I  cried  indignantly.  "  I  want 
employment." 

He  lifted  his  hands  deprecatingly.  "  Come  up,"  he 
coaxed.  "  Mademoiselle  ees  cold." 

I  was  shaking  to  the  bone. 

**  Warm  supper,"  added  he,  and  I  could  see  the  dark 
eyes  close  as  he  leaned  forward. 

Supper!  —  the  mere  word  sent  a  faintness  through  my 
limbs.  Hunger  suddenly  clamored  within  me.  I  became 
dizzy,  and  put  out  my  hand  to  steady  myself.  He  must 
have  thought  that  I  was  giving  him  my  fingers ;  for  he 
took  them  in  his  soft,  warm  palm,  and  led  me  through  a 
small  stone  alleyway,  where  we  passed  a  man  who  nodded 
comprehendingly.  At  the  first  bend  of  the  stairs  I 
stopped,  sobs  shaking  me  until  I  felt  that  if  I  did  not  cry 
I  should  die  on  the  spot. 

"  Mademoiselle  ees  hungry ;  Mademoiselle  ees  cold. 
Come,  come,  my  belle,  my  petite  cherie!  " 

Still  holding  my  hand,  he  took  a  key  from  his  pocket 
and  placed  it  in  the  lock.  Supper!  Supper!  A  ticking 
sound  from  the  corner  of  the  hallway  mingled  with  the 
grating  of  the  key.  I  turned  my  eyes,  and  saw  the  upper 
part  of  a  small,  dark  insect  lifting  itself  from  an  aperture 
in  the  wall.  It  scuttled  into  the  light  for  an  instant, 
seemed  to  scan  me  with  a  thousand  eyes,  and  tailed  back 
into  the  hole  again.  It  woke  me  thoroughly  from  the 
hideous  nightmare  into  which  I  had  fallen.  A  sickening 
suspicion  rushed  into  my  mind.  This  was  no  shop ! 

"  I'm  going  home ! "  I  cried,  and  darted  down  the  stairs. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  29 

The  man  in  the  alleyway  stared  after  me.  I  heard  follow- 
ing footsteps ;  but  did  not  wait  to  see  if  I  were  pursued. 
My  flesh  tingled  as  I  fled  into  Boulevard  St.  Michel;  and 
here  and  there,  as  I  rushed  along,  I  passed  a  lonely  woman 
or  a  crowd  of  students.  I  went  on  and  on  toward  the 
river.  At  last  the  lights,  which  strung  themselves  miles 
up  and  down  the  Seine,  came  across  my  view.  I  dropped 
upon  a  bench  and  listened  to  the  water  as  it  stole  under  the 
huge  bridge  and  took  its  almost  silent  way  through  the 
lighted  city.  As  I  heard  the  river  rolling  onward  and 
ever  onward,  poor  Colonel  Coster  came  into  my  mind.  He 
had  been  such  a  good  friend  ever  since  I  could  remember, 
and  as  yet  I  did  not  know  how  he  had  lost  my  money.  I 
was  so  truly  grateful  for  his  sympathy  since  Aunty's 
death  that  I  could  hold  no  bitterness  in  my  heart  against 
him.  I  wondered,  as  I  searched  the  sky  longingly,  whether 
in  that  far-away  spirit  land  he  had  met  Uncle  and  Aunty, 
and  if  they  knew  of  the  shadow  of  tragedy  that  hung  over 
me. 

But  the  five-franc  piece  seemed  a  barrier  between  me 
and  the  river.  The  dark  face  of  the  Frenchman  came  con- 
stantly before  me.  He  had  thought  I  was  begging,  and 
had  given  me  the  money  out  of  the  kindness  of  his  heart. 
I  felt  that  I  could  forever  place  that  one  good  deed 
against  all  the  bad  in  a  country  seemingly  without  con- 
science. The  silver  spoke  of  the  cloak  models;  while  the 
river  sang  its  endless  tune  of  liberty  and  freedom  from 
insults. 

The  five-franc  piece  has  given  me  more  courage  than 
anything  else  could  have,  unless  it  might  have  been  to 
meet  Roger  Everard. 

On  my  way  home  I  passed  the  pretty  cloak  model.  I 
didn't  smile  again.  I  couldn't  forget  the  affront  she  had 
given  me  earlier  in  the  day. 

It  is  almost  two  o'clock.     I  hear  a  rap  upon  the  door. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SINCE  I  wrote  last,  I  have  heard  such  things  —  such 
terrible  things !     My  head  is  whirling,  and  I'm  mis- 
erable.    But  Captain  Zadie  says  that  this  will  pass, 
and  she  ought  to  know.     It  was  her  rap  I  heard  on  the 
door.     She  invited  me  to  take  coffee  in  her  cozy  little 
rooms,  which  are  curtained  and  daintily  arranged. 

"  You  come  een,"  said  she  slowly,  "  and  sect  there  until 
I  have  made  the  drink." 

Captain  Zadie  is  fat,  good  natured,  and  divinely  moth- 
erly. Immediately  I  began  to  love  her.  Like  a  kitten,  I 
curled  up  in  an  old-fashioned  armchair,  and  a  feeling  of 
contentment  crept  over  me;  for  I  thought  that  now  some- 
one would  tell  me  where  I  could  find  work.  Perhaps  Cap- 
tain Zadie  would  take  me  with  her. 

The  gas-stove  shot  out  little  flames  of  red  and  green, 
and  once  the  colors  mingled  into  a  dark  blue.  The  warmth 
made  me  drowsy.  The  coffee  was  hot  and  fragrant.  I 
took  three  lumps  of  sugar.  Aunty  used  to  say  it  was 
bad  for  my  teeth  to  gobble  sweets  like  a  greedy  child. 

"  Where  should  girls  apply  for  positions  as  cloak  mod- 
els?" I  asked,  sipping  the  brown  beverage  with  enjoy- 
ment. 

Again  as  in  the  morning  Captain  Zadie  slowly  shook 
her  head.  "  I  know  not  what  cloak  models  means." 

"  Then  cocottes,"  I  explained.     "  It's  the  same  thing." 

"  Ah,  yes,  cocottes.     You  a  cocotte,  eh  ?  " 

"  Not  yet :  I  want  to  be  very  much,  Captain  Zadie,"  I 
explained.  "  You  see,  I  lost  my  income  lately,  and  I  must 
do  something.  I  haven't  any  money  left." 

30 


31 

Captain  Zadie  stared  hard  into  my  face.  For  fully  one 
minute  we  looked  directly  into  each  other's  eyes ;  then 
she  dropped  hers,  and  went  on  stirring  her  coffee  as  if  she 
were  thinking  deeply,  and  I  were  no  longer  in  the  vision 
of  her  mind. 

I  wondered  if  she  didn't  want  to  tell  me  —  if  she  were 
one  of  those  women  who  wouldn't  help  another  to  get 
work. 

Suddenly  I  caught  a  strange  expression  in  her  face, 
an  expression  that  blanched  my  cheeks.  My  common- 
sense  was  forcing  upon  me  a  fact  I  did  not  understand. 

"  Tell  me,"  I  cried,  frightened,  "  what  is  a  cocotte  ?  " 

Captain  Zadie  got  up  deliberately,  slowly  filled  my  cup 
with  coffee,  and  then  served  herself.  With  as  much  de- 
liberation she  sat  down  again ;  but  not  one  word  did  she 
utter.  I  waited. 

"  Haf  you  always  been  a  gude  girl?"  she  asked  pres- 
ently in  a  low  voice. 

I  hastily  reviewed  my  past  life,  not  forgetting  my  tem- 
per, Aunty's  trouble  with  me  since  the  death  of  my  father, 
and  all  manner  of  schoolday  escapades.  The  remem- 
brance of  Aunt  Sarah's  deathbed  came  into  my  mind,  and 
her  last  words  drifted  into  my  heart.  "  You  have  always 
been  such  a  sweet,  good  girl,  Phyllis,"  said  she;  but  my 
conscience  told  me  that  I  had  not  always  —  always  been 
good.  Then  I  answered  Captain  Zadie: 

"  No,  not  always ;  but  I'm  sorry  now.  I  thought  only 
last  night  that  maybe  I  was  being  punished  for  my  wicked- 
ness to  my  aunt.  She  was  so  unselfish  with  her  loved  ones 
that  she  spoiled  me.  She  brought  me  up,  you  see,  and 
left  me  her  money.  I  came  over  here  alone  to  train  my 
voice.  I  have  no  relatives  left  in  America." 

"  I  mean  other  kind  of  gude,"  demanded  Captain  Zadie 
relentlessly.  "  I  mean  —  haf  you  effer  lufed  a  man?  " 

I  vividly  remember  how  I  felt  when   Roger  Everard 


32  WHEN  THAGEDY  GRINS 

touched  my  hand  or  looked  into  my  eyes,  and  I  answered 
hesitatingly,  "  I  know  an  ideal  man.  He  is  an  American, 
and  good  and  noble." 

"  Cocotte,  cocotte ! "  murmured  Captain  Zadie.  She 
filled  my  cup  with  coffee,  this  time  forgetting  hers.  "  I 
think  your  American  people  could  haf  given  you  some- 
t'ing  to  do,"  said  she  after  a  pause.  "  Eferybody  haf 
to  care  for  hees  own  people,  and  Mademoiselle  ees  such  a 
baby." 

"  Oh,  I  did  try  before  I  came  to  this  house,  and  I  have 
tried  since  I  came,  too;  but  all  the  Americans  here  are 
as  badly  off  as  I.  There  seems  to  be  nothing  in  the  city 
for  me.  In  the  typist  office  they  smiled  when  I  asked  for 
work,  and  I  couldn't  even  get  a  position  to  take  care  of 
babies.  I  do  not  speak  French,  you  see.  I  interviewed 
ever  so  many  ladies." 

"  Pauvre  mignonne!  "  she  murmured.  Her  eyes  dark- 
ened during  her  musing;  but  she  lifted  her  shoulders  and 
asked  curtly,  "  Haf  you  no  money  here?  " 

I  shook  my  head  forlornly. 

"  You  must  haf  friends  —  where  ees  they  ?  " 

I  repeated  the  story  of  my  guardian's  death,  of  how  I 
had  been  left  to  shift  for  myself. 

Several  times  Captain  Zadie  stopped  me,  imploring  that 
I  speak  more  slowly.  After  I  had  finished,  she  raised  one 
great  shoulder,  lit  a  cigarette,  settled  back  in  the  large 
chair,  and  fell  to  thinking.  We  were  silent  for  a  long  time. 
The  little  white  dog  on  the  fur  mat  in  the  corner  lifted  its 
body,  whined,  turned  about,  and  again  sank  to  sleep. 

"  I  have  no  friends  now  in  America  to  whom  I  can  apply 
for  money,"  I  put  in  finally ;  "  so  I  want  to  work  like 
you  do,  and  like  the  tall  pretty  girl  I  saw  coming  in  who 
wouldn't  smile  at  me." 

"  Ah,  Lady  Jane  Grey,"  interposed  Zadie.  *'  Out,  she 
is  a  cocotte,  like  you  haf  said." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  33 

Zadie  showed  her  white  teeth  in  a  smile.  I  noticed  there 
was  rouge  still  left  on  her  lips.  I  suppose  the  hot  coffee 
had  washed  if  off  in  patches.  Before  I  could  question  her 
she  spoke  again. 

"  You  not  be  like  Lady  Jane  and  me,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  say  no,  no !  " 

"  But  I  must  work,"  I  said  miserably.  "  And  I'd  rather 
stay  here  with  you.  I  don't  know  anyone  else  in  Paris 
who  would  trouble  with  me.  Mayn't  I  go  with  you  to 
work?" 

She  narrowed  her  eyes  and  looked  at  me,  then  reached 
out  and  took  up  her  little  dog.  "  If  you  stay  here,  you 
beg  money,  see?  You  stay  weez  me  no  other  way." 

"  Beg  money !  "  I  gasped.     "  Beg  money ! " 

"  Oui,  oui!     If  you  can't  work,  then  you  beg.     Voila!  " 

I  shook  my  head.  "  But  a  cloak  model  —  isn't  a  co- 
cotte  the  same  as  a  cloak  model,  one  who  tries  on  cloaks 
at  stores  ?  " 

At  my  explanation  her  mystified  expression  cleared. 
*'  Non,  non!  Cocottes  —  cocottes  ees  human  leafs  oni 
life's  river.  Failures  petite s!  Pauvres  petit es!  " 

In  infinite  pity,  her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  and  she 
said  no  more.  Nor  did  I  ask  her  —  just  then.  Suddenly 
I  realized  what  she  meant.  The  spot  where  the  five-franc 
piece  had  been  in  my  hand  burned  as  if  an  iron  straight 
from  the  forge  were  branding  my  flesh.  Casperone  Larodi 
had  lied  to  me ! 

Presently  Captain  Zadie  raised  her  head.  "  You  vish 
to  stay  weez  me  here,  in  thees  house  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  any  other  friends,"  I  sobbed. 

"  Then  if  you  stay,"  she  said  almost  fiercely,  "  you  be 
gude,  or  I  think  I  keel  you !  " 

After  awhile  she  asked,  "  You  ef er  hear  Donnez  moi  un 
cadeau?  " 

"  No." 


34  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Then  you  say  that  to  boulevard  men  till  you  get 
money  to  go  to  your  country.  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau," 
she  whispered  drearily  again,  and  yet  again  there  fell 
from  her  lips,  "  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau." 

She  dropped  the  dog  and  got  up,  and  I  burst  out : 

"  What  does  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau  mean  ?  " 

"  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau  in  your  tongue,  leetle  Ameri- 
can fool,  eet  means,  *  Will  you  gif  me  a  leetle  gift  ?  ' 

She  was  standing  with  her  hands  on  her  hips,  looking 
at  me  gravely  as  if  she  would  read  my  very  thoughts.  I 
looked  into  her  soulful,  faded  eyes  and  whispered : 

"  Do  you  —  do  you  say  just,  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau  in 
your  work?  " 

For  a  few  minutes  she  didn't  reply.  Shaking  herself, 
she  turned  away,  dropping  her  head.  "  I  not  lie  to  you," 
she  murmured.  "  I  not  say  eet.  I  ees  old,  ugly,  and 
bad." 

I  sprang  to  her  side,  wringing  the  hand  she  thrust  out 
to  ward  me  off.  "  You're  not  bad.  Neither  are  you  old 
or  ugly,"  I  exclaimed.  "  You  are  not !  You're  the  best 
woman  in  the  world,  I'm  sure.  Don't,  don't  push  me 
away ! " 

For  one  short  minute  she  gathered  me  close.  I  imagine 
I  felt  as  I  should  if  my  own  mother  had  hugged  me.  Bless 
big  Captain  Zadie,  dear  Heaven,  with  all  thy  strength! 
Bless  her! 

After  a  short  silence  I  asked  Zadie  about  the  pretty  girl 
Casperone  knew. 

"  Lady  Jane  lufs  an  American,"  she  explained.  "  Her 
name  is  Jeanne;  but  he  called  her  Lady  Jane  firs'.  He 
say  she  look  like  some  great  lady  in  England  who  had 
her  head  —  comme  ca  —  cut  off,  I  mean."  She  made  a 
motion  with  her  fingers  about  her  neck. 

"  He  come  here  often.     He  has  lot  money  and  ees  good 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  35 

Christian.  He  has  try  to  make  Jeanne  be  gude,  too.  He 
pray  for  she,  Jeanne  say." 

Through  my  mind  comes  the  passionate  wish  that  some 
good  man  would  be  interested  in  me ;  for  I'm  lonely,  and 
my  hopes  of  earning  money  have  been  dashed  from  me  by 
the  wicked  misleading  of  Larodi  and  the  plain  words  of 
Captain  Zadie. 

"  Jeanne  want  to  marry  her  American,"  Zadie  said  more 
slowly. 

"  Then  why  doesn't  she  do  what  he  wants  her  to  ?  Have 
you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  Out!  He  is  good  looking  for  American.  Nearly  al- 
ways they  ees  not  that  way.  Most  of  them  ees  inseepid, 
you  see,  weez  pale  faces  an'  light  eyes." 

I  looked  my  amazement.  Was  it  possible  that  Captain 
Zadie  could  admire  Frenchmen  more  than  our  splendid 
Americans?  Lady  Jane's  friend  is  a  good  man,  then. 
How  I  should  like  to  see  him !  Paris  is  such  a  lonely 
place !  I  want  to  go  home !  I  want  to  go  back  to  Amer- 
ica! 

•  ••••••* 

Of  course,  I  can't  beg!  I  feel  quite  ashamed  because 
I've  been  eating  with  Captain  Zadie ;  but  have  promised  to 
pay  everything  back  to  her  very  soon. 

Every  day  I've  been  out  searching  for  something  to 
do;  but  the  city  is  filled  with  Americans  situated  like  me. 
No  one  seems  to  have  money,  and  the  French  people 
haven't  any  pity  for  poor  foreigners. 

Yesterday  morning  I  made  up  my  mind  to  ask  Zadie 
just  what  to  do.  In  the  afternoon  she  sat  beside  me,  and, 
like  the  good  soul  that  she  is,  told  me  about  Paris  and  of 
the  class  of  miserable  women  who,  like  myself,  are  without 
money  and  without  friends. 

"  You  be  not  what  we  ees,  leetle  fool ! "  she  thrust  in, 


36  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

after  a  pause.     "  You  go  home  to  your  country,  back  to 
your  States,  see?  " 

Of  course  I  cried  —  cried  just  as  any  girl  would.  I 
was  ashamed  —  ashamed  and  so  awfully  afraid. 

Captain  Zadie  told  me  of  things  that  I  do  not  feel  like 
writing  at  present,  about  every-day  life  upon  Boulevard 
St.  Michel, —  sickening  things,  which  set  my  head  aching, 
and  my  heart  beating.  I  can't  believe  it,  I  can't!  It  is 
all  so  horrible ! 

I'm  beginning  to  understand  life  now  —  the  five  francs 
is  on  the  table  before  me.  I  feel  the  tingle  of  it  on  my 
fingers.  Daylight  is  peeping  over  the  roofs  of  the  build- 
ings on  St.  Michel,  and  the  vegetable  carts  are  rattling 
over  the  cobbles.  Lady  Jane  has  just  come  in  and  gone 
to  bed  —  her  room  is  next  to  mine. 

Donnez  moi  un  cadeau  —  the  phrase  mingles  with  the 
clatter  of  the  carts  and  the  twitter  of  the  birds  in  the  eaves 
of  yonder  house.  I  am  holding  the  five  francs  pressed  in 
my  palm  again.  It  is  cold  in  my  hand ;  but  a  hot,  tingling 
sensation  goes  through  me  at  its  contact.  I  have  de- 
cided to  spend  it,  and  I  shall  never  seek  the  man  who 
forced  it  upon  me.  In  my  imagination  the  Seine  sounds 
in  my  ears  as  I  heard  it  so  many  times  before.  The  mur- 
mur is  like  the  spirit  of  a  loved  one  calling  its  own  into  a 
mysterious  land  of  rest. 

•  •••••'•• 

Lady  Jane's  American  is  with  her.  I  hear  his  voice, 
deep,  musical,  and  resonant;  but  I  can't  follow  his  conver- 
sation, for  he  speaks  in  French.  I  surmise  that  Lady 
Jane  doesn't  understand  English. 

I  have  met  Lady  Jane  Grey  several  times.  She  is  pret- 
tier than  I  thought  her  at  first,  although  her  eyes  con- 
tract into  narrow  slits  when  she  looks  at  me.  I  love  to 
listen  to  the  voice  of  her  American.  It  is  a  familiar  voice, 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  37 

ringing  clearer  than  the  bell  in  the  church  tower  at  home. 
Tears  blind  me  until  I  can't  see  to  write. 

I  have  promised  Captain  Zadie  to  wait  for  her.  She 
wants  to  tell  me  something  very  important  tonight.  We'll 
have  coffee  as  soon  as  she  comes  home. 

•  ••••••• 

When  Captain  Zadie  knocked  at  my  door  and  asked 
me  to  her  room,  I  nearly  flew  out  of  my  skin,  I  was  so 
glad. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  Lady  Jane  sitting  in  my  large 
chair.  I  took  the  divan.  She  smiled  lazily,  splendidly. 
With  her  rounded  chin  supported  on  one  small  hand,  she 
reminded  me  of  a  beautiful  cat  that  lifts  its  furry  back 
and  rubs  your  dress  when  you  speak  to  it. 

But  Lady  Jane  doesn't  like  me.  I  suppose  it's  the 
natural  antipathy  the  French  have  for  other  nationalities. 
Still,  she  loves  her  American,  and  he  is  of  my  country. 

Zadie  and  Lady  Jane  talked  rapidly  in  French  for  about 
five  minutes.  I  could  hear  the  words  "  American  bank," 
and  understood  other  expressions  that  made  me  realize  that 
they  were  talking  about  me.  Presently  Lady  Jane  rose 
languidly  and,  nodding  to  me,  went  out.  Zadie  told  me 
that  Lady  Jane  doesn't  like  me. 

"  Eet  ees  because  you  ees  more  pretty  than  she.  Jeanne 
doesn't  like  pretty  women.  She  ees  afraid  for  her  man  to 
see  you." 

"  She  needn't  be,"  I  replied  seriously ;  "  for  I  don't  want 
to  know  anyone  who  loves  her." 

"  He  does  not  luf  her,"  responded  Zadie,  helping  her- 
self to  coffee.  "  He  makes  her  angry  weez  the  whole 
world.  He  ees  only  trying  to  help  her.  She  lufs  heem." 

"  If  he  isn't  in  love  with  her,  then,"  said  I,  "  he  couldn't 
love  me." 

"  You  ees  his  countrywoman  ?  that  ees  why  Jeanne  fears. 


38  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

I  ees  her  friend,  too.  One  time  she  safed  my  Violetta  — 
that  leetle  dog,  you  know  —  from  getting  into  what  you 
call  the  pound.  And  now  she  say  send  you  away  and  that 
I  mak  you  leave  thees  house  now,  at  once.  She  haf  fears 
for  her  bon  ami  to  see  you." 

My  upper  lip  curled.  "  Lady  Jane  need  not  fear :  her 
friend  is  safe  as  far  as  I  am  concerned."  But  I  can't  for- 
get the  voice,  the  tones  so  tenderly  familiar,  of  the  co- 
cotte's  American,  and  I  know  that  my  reply  had  been 
piqued  from  me. 

For  a  few  seconds  after  this  declaration  Captain  Zadie 
looked  into  my  face.  I  gazed  back  at  her.  Tonight 
would  decide  my  fate.  I  had  to  work ! 

Violetta,  the  tiny  dog,  curled  comfortably  in  my  lap. 
I  was  content  to  remain  silent  until  my  companion  spoke, 
revolving  in  my  mind  the  events  of  the  last  few  weeks, 
which  had  blackened  my  whole  horizon  as  the  rising  of  a 
sudden  storm  darkens  the  summer's  sun.  I  understand 
now  something  of  what  life  means, —  to  have  nothing  be- 
fore one  but  —  tears  —  despondency  —  and  the  river 
Seine. 

Suddenly  Zadie  rose  and  threw  away  the  small  end  of 
the  cigarette.  "  I  wish  you  could  lif  here  weez  me,  in 
my  room,"  said  she;  "but  I  have  ma  mere  (my  mother), 
you  know,  and  it  takes  much  money.  For  a  leetle  while 
you  be  beggar  —  good  cocotte  —  Donnez  mol  un  cadeau 
cocotte —  See?  " 

That  hateful  word  sickened  me.  It  dinned  in  my  ears 
and  seared  itself  indelibly  on  my  brain.  At  first  I  had 
thought  it  the  Open  Sesame  of  hope :  now  it  was  abhorrent. 
Of  course,  Captain  Zadie  could  not  add  another  burden 
to  her  already  heavy  load.  Her  mother, —  oh,  she  has 
someone  to  love!  —  while  I —  And  with  the  thought  of 
the  new  forlornness  that  had  come  to  me  in  so  short  a  time 
I  buried  my  face  in  Violetta's  soft  fur  and  wept. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  39 

As  she  searched  my  face,  Captain  Zadie  remained  silent. 
I  saw  her  lips  twitch. 

"  Eet  ees  not  easy  the  firs'  start,"  she  muttered  in  an 
unsteady  way.  "  Mon  Dieu!  eet  ees  not !  But  one  mus' 
lif.  You  be  good,  you  see?  You  beg.  You  ask, 
*  Dowiez  moi  un  cadeau  ' —  that  ees  all." 

The  satyrlike  face  of  the  man  who  had  lured  me  to  the 
dark  hallway  rose  before  me.  I  shuddered  —  the  pain 
about  my  heart  made  me  writhe  for  minutes. 

I,  like  thousands  of  others,  was  to  earn  my  bread  in 
the  dark  corners  of  Boulevard  St.  Michel  —  I  was  to  be- 
come one  of  that  mass  of  weary  women  I  had  mistaken 
for  cloak  models.  From  the  bottom  of  my  aching  heart 
I  pitied  them ;  but  most  of  all  myself.  It  seemed  to  me  like 
giving  the  greatest  and  most  sympathetic  pity  to  the  dying 
man  instead  of  the  dead  one. 

"  You  preety.  sleem,  and  American,"  Captain  Zadie 
burst  forth.  "  You  get  many  presents ;  you  soon  go  to 
you  country.  Don't  cry,  leetle  fool ! " 

I  crept  back  to  my  room  and  fell  into  bed.  A  terrifying 
sensation  of  despair  swept  over  me.  In  my  mental  dis- 
order I  could  hear  the  murmuring  of  the  river,  calling 
over  and  over  its  invitation  to  rest.  It  was  the  only  way 
to  escape  Boulevard  St.  Michel.  Of  all  Paris  I  love  the 
river  best.  I  went  to  sleep,  and  it  was  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  before  I  opened  my  eyes. 

At  first  I  could  not  imagine  what  woke  me.  Then  I 
realized  that  it  was  the  voice  of  Lady  Jane's  American — 
so  clear,  so  firm,  so  tinged  with  the  richness  of  the  land 
in  which  he  was  born !  I  could  but  turn  over  and  bury 
my  face  in  the  pillow.  America!  America!  Darling 
land  of  my  birth !  Never  shall  I  see  thee  again !  Today 
is  the  last,  the  very  last,  day  I  shall  live ! 

Louder  and  more  pleading  came  the  voice  from  Lady 
Jane's  room.  Then  she  answered  in  her  lazy,  exquisite 


40  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

French,  and  I  imagined  that  she  lolled  on  the  divan  like 
a  purring  tigress,  her  eyes  half  closed,  her  lithe  body 
stretched  in  the  fullness  of  its  every  beautiful  curve. 

In  the  last  few  days  the  view  of  life  has  changed  com- 
pletely. I  have  turned  a  dangerous  corner,  and  a  grue- 
some vista,  widened  and  broadened  by  experience,  lies  be- 
fore me.  The  girl  of  yesterday  is  a  woman  of  today, —  a 
homeless,  heartsick  woman. 

The  even  flow  of  Lady  Jane's  French  mingled  with  the 
entreaty  of  her  companion.  If  I  could  but  understand! 
Captain  Zadie  said  that  he  prays  continually  for  the  co- 
cotte's  conversion. 

Suddenly  Zadie's  words  came  into  my  mind :  "  Jeanne 
burns  a  candle  every  day  before  the  Virgin  Mary  for  the 
love  of  her  American." 

"  And  does  burning  a  candle  help  her?  "  I  had  asked. 

"  Eet  bring  her  the  man,"  Zadie  had  answered,  "  if  the 
blessed  Virgin  theenks  good." 

"  What  does  she  say  when  she  prays  ?  " 

"  Fife  Hail  Marys  and  one  Our  Father,  and  fife  Holy 
Marys." 

I  listened  intently  as  Zadie  quoted  the  prayers  to  me ; 
for  I  was  ignorant  of  a  religion  that  made  a  Paris  cocotte 
kneel  before  the  Mother  of  Christ  and  beg  the  love  of  a 
man.  Captain  Zadie  said  that  Jane  once  knelt  so  near  the 
beautiful  image  of  the  Mother  that  her  tears  dropped  upon 
the  folds  of  the  blessed  robe  and  washed  some  of  the  gilt 
off.  Lady  Jane  went  out  quickly,  fearing  the  suisse 
would  curse  her  for  such  desecration.  I'm  hugging  the 
thought  that  I,  too,  need  a  religion. 

If  the  Blessed  Mother  answered  Lady  Jane,  couldn't 
she  help  me  ?  Five  Hail  Marys !  And  Five  Holy  Marys  ! 
How  could  I  repeat  those  sacred  words?  I  had  never 
learned  them.  I  didn't  know  how  to  cross  myself.  I  had 
often  seen  the  penitents  at  the  foot  of  the  altar;  but  had 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  41 

not  noticed  the  symbolic  motions  of  repentance.     I  knew 
only  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

I  hastened  into  my  clothes,  and  hurried  out  into  Boule- 
vard St.  Michel  —  over  the  river  at  which  I  gave  scarcely 
a  glance  —  on  and  to  the  Notre  Dame  to  burn  some  can- 
dles. Before  leaving  my  room  I  had  taken  the  little 
change  that  remained  of  the  five  francs  given  me  by  the 
dark  Frenchman.  I  would  offer  my  all  to  the  Holy 
Mother!  I  knew  not  how  to  express  my  desire  in  the 
rhythmic  words  of  the  Roman  Catholic  faith ;  but  if  there 
is  such  a  being  as  the  Mother  of  Christ,  if  she  lives  be- 
yond the  clouds  and  the  blue,  then  she  will  understand. 

The  church  of  Notre  Dame  loomed  up  before  me;  two 
tall  towers  lifted  themselves  into  the  mist  that  hung  over 
the  city.  The  curved  figures  of  stone  upon  the  facade 
represented  every  mood  in  the  trial  of  life.  One  long 
line  of  sinners  weighed  in  the  balance  of  Satan's  scales 
were  being  tied  together  by  small,  grinning  stone  devils 
who  were  leading  the  captives  into  the  lower  regions.  I 
fully  believe  that  the  tormented  souls  received  their  first 
temptation  in  the  boulevards  of  Paris.  The  panic-stricken 
faces  of  the  tortured  mortals,  roped  in  by  Satan,  seemed  to 
be  typical  of  the  terrible  life  into  which  I  had  been  thrust. 
With  fast  gathering  tears,  I  turned  into  the  church.  The 
altar  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  adorned  with  a  few  burning 
candles,  was  the  first  thing  that  arrested  my  eyes. 

Making  my  wants  known  by  pointing  to  the  small  flick- 
ering, I  offered  my  sous,  and  followed  the  example  of  a 
woman  with  a  long  veil  who  knelt  before  the  altar. 

Touching  the  candle  to  another,  I  stood  it  upon  one 
of  the  little  pointed  steel  pins  used  to  hold  the  tapers,  and 
knelt  beside  the  woman  in  black.  Through  my  fingers, 
as  I  bowed  reverently  before  the  time-honored  Mother  of 
the  World's  Savior,  the  bitterest  tears  of  my  short  years 
rained. 


42  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Our  Father  which  art  in  Heaven 
Hallowed  be  thy  name — " 

I  repeated. 

I  felt  a  touch  upon  my  shoulder.  A  man  with  a  serious 
expression  and  closely  drawn  eyebrows  stood  over  me.  He 
muttered  in  English: 

"  Mademoiselle  has  forgotten  to  cross  herself." 

I  only  dropped  my  head  in  reply. 

The  man  moved  away  with  a  whispered  petition.  He 
must  have  known  that  I  was  a  novice  at  saying  Catholic 
prayers.  My  eyes  reverted  to  the  Holy  Mother,  and  my 
thought  to  my  great  need. 

"  Hail  Mary  — "  I  began,  and  stopped.  Then,  with  an 
onward  rush  of  emotion,  I  gasped,  "  Mother,  for  the  sake 
of  the  precious  Child  you  hold  to  your  heart,  forgive  my 
ignorance.  Keep  me  from  taking  the  life  which  God,  thy 
Father  and  mine,  hath  given  me.  For  the  love  of  the 
Savior  to  whom  thou  gavest  His  mortal  life,  give  me  bread 
to  eat.  I  am  sick  at  heart  —  alone  —  afraid  —  imploring 
for  the  sake  of  Jesus  that  I  may  live." 

It  was  all  the  Hail  and  the  Holy  Marys  that  I  knew. 
Then  I  rose  to  my  feet,  leaving  the  other  woman  to  mutter 
out  her  prayers.  I  felt  frightened  at  the  call  of  the 
river  no  longer,  nor  did  I  hold  out  my  hands  to  the  swiftly 
flowing  water.  Somehow,  the  faith  in  the  Holy  Mother 
had  taken  my  distress  from  me.  I  felt  that  the  unburden- 
ing of  my  heart  before  the  altar  was  the  one  thing  that 
had  saved  my  life  and  my  soul,  and  that  I  could  din 
Donnez  moi  un  cadeau  into  the  ears  of  every  man  wander- 
ing in  the  boulevards  of  Paris  and  yet  be  safe.  I  came 
back  to  St.  Michel  with  but  a  backward  glance  at  the 
river  which  now  seemed  to  spell  my  name  with  whispered 
hope. 


CHAPTER  V 

1DID  not  tell  Captain  Zadie  that  I  had  offered  a  prayer 
for  my  life  —  she  didn't  know  that  I  had  intended 
taking  it.  When  I  sat  with  her  before  coming  in  here, 
she  asked  me  what  success  I  had  had  in  the  boulevards. 

"  I  have  four  francs,"  I  said  weakly.  "  It  is  nearly  all 
in  sous,  too." 

Zadie  crossed  herself  as  the  woman  in  black  had  done. 
I  noticed  that  she  did  it  with  her  right  hand.  When  I  go 
to  church  again,  I  shall  remember  that. 

"Four  francs!"  she  ejaculated.  "  Eet  ees  more  than 
I  haf  taken.  But  you  ees  pretty,  while  I — "  she  sighed 
and  crossed  herself  again.  "  Tell  me  about  eet.  You 
see  men,  who  pinched  your  arms  an'  deed  —  comme  fa  — 
like  that,  to  your  —  what  you  call  eet  ?  —  chin." 

"  Yes,"  I  confirmed  truthfully. 

"  An'  you  deed  not  smile  at  them  ?  "  She  scrutinized 
my  face  with  a  sharp  glance. 

"  I  told  you  I  would  not,  and  I  didn't." 

My  wealth  made  my  heart  throb  madly.  Donnez  moi 
un  cadeau  had  saved  me  from  the  river.  Out  of  evil  had 
come  great  good,  and  the  Mother  with  her  Holy  Child 
had  directed  my  feet  into  a  path  whereby  I  might  live. 

I  laughed  at  Violetta  as  she  tried  to  spring  to  my  lap. 
She  tumbled  down;  but  her  second  effort  succeeded  in  an- 
choring her  on  my  knees.  She  stretched  out  her  four 
paws,  and  with  a  contented  whine  went  to  sleep. 

"  You  see,"  I  resumed,  "  .1  kept  thinking  'of  what  you 
said  to  me, —  that  if  I  were  successful,  I  could  go  back 

43 


44  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

to  America, —  and  when  I  said  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau  I  felt 
sure  that  I  would  get  something.  Look  at  all  this  1 " 

I  held  the  coppers  in  my  fingers,  and  counted  over  tha 
precious  money. 

Captain  Zadie  then  told  me  she  was  positive  that  the 
"  leetle  American  fool "  could  soon  go  back  to  the  land  of 
her  birth. 

•  »••*»•« 

I  came  home  a  little  while  ago  from  the  patisserie.  As  I 
came  Zadie  handed  me  a  piece  of  paper. 

"  Keep  eet  about  you  somewhere,"  she  advised.  "  The 
police  ees  been  here,  an'  I  told  heem  you  was  my  sister, 
Christobel  McCall.  They  not  know  your  true  name. 
With  that  you  will  not  be  stopped  by  the  police.  You  can 
beg  and  no  fear." 

I  did  not  answer  a  word;  for  shame  ran  through  every 
nerve  in  my  body,  and  a  sickening  realization  of  degrada- 
tion grew  in  my  heart  until  I  almost  felt  that  death  was 
preferable  to  this  licensed  life  of  a  beggar  on  the  Paris 
boulevards. 

•  ••:••••£ 

A  long  time  has  gone  by.  I'm  hoarding  every  coin 
with  avidity,  and  handle  it  like  a  miser,  whose  glistening 
eyes  and  trembling  fingers  are  the  signs  of  his  delight  at 
the  cold  touch  of  money.  I,  too,  love  it  dearly.  Through 
money  I  shall  return  to  the  shores  of  my  beloved  America, 
and  no  one  will  ever  know  of  this  one  dark  stain  on  my 
life.  With  my  whole  soul  I  loathe  the  Boulevard  St. 
Michel ;  but  the  gleanings  from  it  mean  existence. 

•  ••••••• 

I  have  just  counted  over  my  money  again.  In  four 
weeks  I  have  managed  to  save  five  dollars. 

A  sudden  idea  has  made  me  catch  my  breath.  Can  I 
go  back  to  America  alone  and  penniless?  Why  shouldn't 
I  beg  enough  money  to  train  my  voice,  which  one  day  may 


45 

bring  me  all  that  a  woman  can  desire, —  fame,  money,  and 
—  love.  Yes,  even  he  may  one  day  hear  me  and  wonder, 
not  knowing  the  dark  places  through  which  I  have  been 
dragged  to  get  my  pearl. 

««•««•«* 

Every  day  I  have  taken  delight  in  listening  to  the  voice 
of  Lady  Jane's  visitor.  I  like  it  because  it  reminds  me  of 
home. 

This  morning  I  had  a  great  surprise.  I  received  a  letter 
from  Casperone  Larodi.  He  desires  to  know  where  I  am. 

"  I  love  you  as  it  is  not  possible  for  me  to  love  another 
woman,"  he  wrote.  "  I  cannot  marry  you  now ;  but  I 
would  help  you  gladly,  if  you  will  permit  me.  I  have  my 
own  apartment,  to  which  you  are  more  than  welcome.  I 
have  spent  much  time  in  looking  for  you ;  but  without  avail, 
BO  I  address  this  letter  to  your  banker,  who  will  give  me 
no  information  about  you.  I  know  that  you  do  not  go  to 
the  bank  for  your  letters,  because  I  have  stationed  myself 
in  front  of  the  door  for  many  days,  not  even  moving  for 
dejeuner.  Where  are  you,  Dear?  If  this  follows  you  to 
America,  will  you  write  to  me,  if  only  because  of  my  great 
love?  You  will  always  be  first  in  my  heart,  even  if  I 
should  be  forced  to  marry  another  woman." 

I  shall  never  see  Casperone  again, —  he  is  as  far  from 
the  vista  of  my  life  and  my  future  as  my  present  is  from 
my  past  of  yesterday.  I  have  written  him  a  short  note 
saying  that  I  don't  wish  to  see  him.  He  will  never  think 
of  looking  for  me  over  here.  I  rarely  cross  the  river  into 
newer  Paris,  lest  I  meet  some  of  my  former  acquaintances. 
I  had  rather  live  on  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel  for  the  rest  of 
my  life  than  go  to  Casperone !  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau  — 
Dear  God !  to  what  depths  have  I  fallen  1  How  I  hate  this 
moving  lantern  show  of  furtive  nighthawks  and  painted 
women ! 


46  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Tonight  I  had  an  experience  that  took  me  back  months 
to  the  dear  days  of  respectability. 

For  sometime  after  leaving  home  this  evening,  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  open  my  lips.  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau 
refused  to  be  framed,  even  in  tremulous  tones.  Near  the 
rue  leading  to  the  Pantheon  I  heard  a  voice  murmur  in  my 
ear: 

"  Bon  soir,  Mademoiselle." 

"  I  do  not  speak  French,"  I  replied  frigidly. 

"  Oh,  English ! "  said  he  in  broken  tones.  "  I  speak 
English,  too.  I  lived  in  London  and  New  York  for  awhile. 
Come  with  me  and  have  something  to  drink." 

The  voice  was  kindly,  although  the  French  ring  in  it 
was  unmistakable.  The  eyes  were  dark  and  piercing,  and 
raven  curls  clustered  from  beneath  a  soft  hat. 

"  I  don't  drink,"  I  replied;  "  but  I  thank  you." 

"  Then  some  sparkling  water  or  grenadine  —  yes  ?  " 

It  had  been  a  long  time  since  I  had  talked  English  te 
anyone  save  Zadie,  and  I  allowed  myself  to  be  persuaded. 

"  You  are  an  American  ?  "  he  asked,  removing  his  hat 
and  great  coat. 

I  nodded. 

"Yes?  That's  nice.  I  like  American  women.  Once  I 
was  in  New  York  for  three  years." 

I  vaguely  wondered  how  anyone  who  had  ever  lived  in 
that  country  of  homes  and  contentment  could  be  satisfied 
in  Paris.  But  his  critical  scrutiny  brought  me  back  to  the 
present.  Into  his  eyes  shot  signs  of  recognition.  I  could 
not  hide  my  agitation,  nor  could  I  speak  to  aid  him  in  his 
search  for  my  identity. 

"  Ah !  I  remember !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  How  strange 
and  yet  how  delightful !  It  was  one  night  at  the  Waldorf 
in  New  York  with  —  oh,  that  Colonel  —  what  is  his  name  ?  " 
With  a  characteristic  gesture  of  the  French,  he  tapped  his 
forehead  as  if  to  aid  his  memory. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  47 

"  Coster,"  I  replied.     I  could  scarcely  breathe. 

"  Yes,  Coster  —  I  was  there  at  that  dinner  as  the  guest 
of  Roger  Everard." 

My  face  was  purple  with  embarrassment.  He  had  ut- 
tered the  one  name  sacred  to  me  —  the  name  I  had  en- 
shrined in  my  heart  as  the  ancient  Greeks  enshrined  their 
gods! 

"  I  remember  now,"  I  gasped.     "  I  saw  you  once." 

"  Yes,  only  once ;  but  my  memory  is  good.  How  is  it 
that  you  are  here,  and  above  all  how  came  you  out  at  such 
a  time  of  night?  " 

In  my  consternation  I  sought  for  an  answer  to  his  ques- 
tion. "  My  tooth  ached  dreadfully  last  night,"  I  said ; 
"  so,  fearing  I  should  have  another  attack,  I  came  out  in 
search  of  a  chemist." 

"  It  is  not  wise  for  a  beautiful  young  girl  to  go  out 
alone  in  Paris,"  he  chided  slowly. 

"  Oh,  in  America  we  have  no  fear  in  the  streets ;  at  least, 
not  in  my  home  town." 

He  reddened  as  he  begged  to  be  pardoned  for  his  rude- 
ness in  speaking  to  me.  "  I  was  lonely,"  he  said  in  expla- 
nation, "  and  that  must  be  my  excuse  for  my  rude  be- 
havior. Will  you  pardon  me  ?  " 

It  must  have  been  through  the  intervention  of  some 
higher  power  that  he  had  accosted  me  instead  of  my  beg- 
ging a  gift  from  him.  I  was  so  thankful,  so  thankful  — 
for  he  was  a  friend  of  Roger  Everard's ! 

"  I  was  lonely,  too,"  I  answered,  "  and  so  you  have  no 
reason  to  offer  any  apologies  to  me.  I  was  not  compelled 
to  come  with  you,  you  know ;  but  I  felt  glad  when  I  Jieard 
you  speak  English."  This  pleased  him.  "  I  am  studying 
here,"  I  went  on  quietly,  "  and  you  won't  be  displeased  if 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  call  upon  me?  I  give  very  little  time 
to  pleasure.  I  am  trying  to  master  the  language  also." 

"  I  should  like  to  take  you  to  the  opera  some  evening,  if 


48  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

you  will  go.  Why  not?  It  will  give  you  a  splendid  idea 
of  French  stage  work.  You  may  choose  your  own  time. 
Your  name  is  —  Miss  Fitzpatrick  ?  " 

I  nodded  my  head ;  but  said  that  I  couldn't  accept  his  in- 
vitation. 

On  my  way  home  I  shivered  when  I  thought  how  little 
he  knew  that  I  slept  the  entire  day  and  spent  the  night  on 
Boulevard  St.  Michel.  Oh,  if  I  could  but  once  throw  off 
this  shell  of  deceit  and  go  to  the  opera!  It  would  take 
only  a  few  francs  to  get  ready;  but  I  can't  spare  them. 
Francs  mean  singing  lessons,  and  possibly  —  Roger 
Everard.  The  name  rings  in  my  brain  as  past  events  toss 
before  me.  Roger  Everard  is  my  ideal  of  manhood, —  so 
tall,  so  kindly  eyed  and  courteous.  Suddenly  it  came  to 
me  as  a  revelation  that  I  had  used  him  as  a  standard  by 
which  to  measure  every  man  I  met.  Now  I  know  that  I 
love  him !  If  Lady  Jane  burns  candles  for  her  American, 
why  shouldn't  I  burn  one  for  Roger  Everard?  I  had 
hoped,  I  still  hope,  to  make  him  proud  of  me. 

»••••••• 

I  burned  another  candle  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon. 
Zadie  has  taught  me  how  to  cross  myself;  but  the  five 
Hails  and  Holy  Marys  I  can't  remember.  But  I  am  sat- 
isfied that  I  shall  see  Roger  again,  and  that  he  will  care  a 
little  —  and  that  I  shall  then  be  as  happy  as  I  am  now 
unhappy.  Lady  Jane's  visitor  was  with  her  when  I  went 
out.  His  voice  charms  and  magnetizes  me  more  and  more. 
Possibly  it  is  because  I  can  trace  a  resemblance  to  another 
voice  in  America. 

•  «*••••• 

Paris  grows  more  wonderful  hour  by  hour,  and  I'm  look- 
ing with  enlightened  eyes  upon  everything. 

Under  Captain  Zadie's  room  lives  another  girl  named 
Babette,  She  is  beautiful,  and  no  bigger  than  a  child  of 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  49 

twelve.  Her  flashing  black  eyes  grow  fierce,  then  tender, 
as  she  pours  out  her  even,  liquid  French.  I  like  to  watch 
her  when  she  speaks  with  Zadie.  I  always  know  when  she 
mentions  her  sweetheart.  Emotion  deepens  the  color  of 
her  eyes,  and  they  grow  drowsy  and  altogether  lovely. 
Her  lover,  Anatole  Beaucault,  designs  her  hats  and  dresses. 
She  goes  into  raptures  over  his  taste,  and  commented  to  us 
upon  his  broad  shoulders,  height,  and  strength.  He  never 
looks  to  the  left  or  right  as  he  passes.  It  is  known  about 
the  quarter  here  that  he  loves  Babette  passionately.  Cap- 
tain Zadie  says  that  the  small  girl  gives  him  fifty  francs 
a  week,  and  that  he  is  studying  medicine  and  art.  She 
also  says  that  the  girl  finds  her  happiness  in  earning  money 
for  him.  I  can't  imagine  how  a  man  can  allow  a  tiny  tot 
of  humanity  to  supply  his  needs.  Strange  people,  these 
French ! 

I  saw  them  tonight,  and  the  memory  makes  my  head 
whirl  yet.  Directly  in  front  of  the  School  of  Pharmacy 
a  long  line  of  students  marched  toward  me.  They  walked 
two  abreast  and  sang  a  rollicking  college  song.  Their 
heads  were  covered  with  broad,  flat  hats,  and  their  long 
black  robes  swept  loosely  to  the  ground.  As  they  neared 
and  passed  under  an  electric  light,  something  white  at- 
tracted my  attention.  One  large  man  walked  some  paces 
ahead,  and  others  followed  with  the  even  tread  of  soldiers. 
The  white  object  was  suspended  from  the  neck  of  the  tall 
leader.  Like  the  pendulum  of  a  clock  it  swung  to  and  fro 
with  lithe  grace,  the  sharp,  willowy  outlines  enhanced  by 
the  light  overhead.  They  came  slowly  closer,  and  I  saw 
that  the  white  object  was  Babette.  She  was  clinging  to  the 
neck  of  her  giant  lover  while  he  flung  her  from  side  to 
side  like  a  babe.  Her  taut,  white  arms  were  bare  to  the 
shoulders,  and  the  black,  fluffy  hair,  loosened  by  the  wind, 
swept  in  all  directions.  At  intervals  she  fastened  her  red 
lips  to  the  dark  cheek  of  the  student,  her  tender,  wicked 


50  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

eyes  closing  as  if  in  delicious  ecstasy.  Anatole  walked 
majestically,  lifting  his  arms  in  French  gestures  to  keep 
time  to  the  song  he  sang.  I  leaned  against  the  railings 
and  allowed  them  to  pass.  Captain  Zadie  told  me  when  I 
described  it  to  her  that  if  any  man  had  dared  to  touch  even 
Babette's  dress  he  would  have  been  dead  in  an  instant. 

Yet  the  girl  in  the  white  dress  who  clung  to  her  lover's 
neck  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  boulevard  cocotte ! 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHAT  a  long,  long  time  I've  been  here!  The 
four  months  that  have  slipped  away  have 
taught  me  many  things ;  but  I  can  never  forget 
that  I  am  but  a  simple  Paris  vagabond.  I  say,  Donnez 
moi  un  cadeau,  s'il  vous  plait,  as  glibly  as  if  I  had  spoken 
French  all  my  life.  Every  time  I  ask  a  sou  and  receive  a 
franc,  I  feel  as  elated  as  a  hungry  boy  who  has  begged 
bread  and  with  it  was  given  cheese.  But  money  does 
come  in  slowly.  My  really  happy  hours  are  spent  with 
Zadie,  and  Fve  studied  every  spare  moment  on  French. 
She  encourages  me  to  speak  in  her  tongue.  I  find  myself 
writing  in  this  book  French  words,  exclamations,  and  easy 
sentences  quite  naturally. 

Last  night  when  I  was  drinking  coffee  and  Zadie  was 
clearing  the  table  she  asked  me  again  about  Roger  Ever- 
ard. 

"  Ees  he  a  good  man,  Cherie?  " 

"  Oh,  so  good !  "  I  said  quickly.  "  He's  an  artist,  and 
sometime  will  be  very  great.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  he  is  good." 

"  How  you  know  ?  " 

I  hesitated,  with  the  coffee  cup  suspended  in  the  air. 
"  I  only  know  that  I  think  so,"  I  replied  meditatively. 
"  He  could  not  be  otherwise,  with  his  face  and  manners. 
I  don't  believe  he  ever  did  a  wicked  thing  in  his  life." 

"  Some  day  you  will  marry  heem,  eh?  " 

My  blood  tingled  through  my  veins  with  joy  at  the 
thought.  "  He  hasn't  asked  me,"  I  said,  dropping  my 
eyes.  "  I've  seen  him  only  a  few  times." 

"  Perhaps  he  marry  another  girl,  while  you  — " 

51 


52  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Her  hesitation  brought  bitter  words  from  my  lips. 
"  While  I'm  begging  on  the  boulevards !  Dear  Heaven ! 
What  a  terrible  thought!  But,  Zadie  dear,  I  remember 
how  he  looked  at  me.  He  really  acted  as  if  he  cared  for 
me." 

"  Men  ees  all  alike,"  she  grunted. 

"  No,  they're  not,  Zadie,  they  can't  be,"  I  contradicted, 
comparing  in  my  mind  Casperone  Larodi  with  Roger 
Everard. 

"  Eet  ees  not  to  make  you  think  less  of  your  Protestant 
lover,"  said  she,  "  that  I  say  again,  a  woman  who  luf s  a 
man  ees  lost." 

I  shook  my  head  and  replied  in  a  low  voice,  "  Zadie,  I 
am  afraid  I  am  fond  of  him.  Although  I  haven't  seen  him 
many  times,  he  is  in  my  thoughts  all  through  my  waking 
hours." 

I  raise  my  cup  nervously  to  my  lips.  Life  on  the  Boule- 
vard St.  Michel  had  changed  my  ideas ;  yet  there  rose  be- 
fore my  mind's  eye  the  earnest  face  of  Roger  Everard 
and  his  brilliant  smile  that  day,  long  ago,  when  he  ac- 
cepted Aunty's  invitation  to  dinner,  in  dear  old  New 
Hampshire.  He  was  what  God  intended  him  to  be, —  a 
clean-minded,  noble-souled  American,  destined  to  be  a  great 
artist.  This  satisfied  feeling  I  have  as  to  his  future  goads 
me  on  to  make  something  of  myself.  It  is  strange  that  I 
should  look  upon  men  as  God's  most  wonderful  part  of 
creation,  even  in  the  light  of  my  new  knowledge  of  them. 

Zadie  read  my  thoughts  and  blurted  out,  "  You  will  not 
always  feels  that  way.  They  don't  gif  you  the  chance. 
When  a  girl  ees  a  fool  and  trust  a  man  and  puts  her 
life—" 

"  Her  hopes,  too,"  I  put  in,  as  she  paused. 

" —  and  what  you  like,"  she  resumed, —  "  Pom !  Every- 
thing ees  smash  and  you  ees  weezout  hope,  weezout  —  any- 
thing!" 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  53 

"  Zadie,"  I  queried,  breaking  a  pause,  "  tell  me  about 
him  —  I  mean  the  man  who  made  you  feel  like  that." 

"  He  was  Engleesh,"  she  replied  brokenly,  and  in  sym- 
pathy Violetta  opened  her  small  mouth  and  whined. 

"  An  Englishman  was  wicked  to  you  ?  " 

'*  Non!  Not  wicked;  but  I  had  to  leaf  heem.  I  was 
young  then  an' — " 

"  Pretty ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oui,  I  was  ver5  pretty." 

As  she  spoke  she  halted  on  her  way  to  the  window  with 
a  pan  of  garbage  suspended  in  her  hand. 

"  Eet  vas  twenty  years  ago  —  and  before  I  come  to 
Boulevard  St.  Michel.  Ma  mere,  pauvre  mignonne,  vas 
poor.  She  haf  not  'nough  for  us  all.  Some  of  us  ees  dead 
now." 

She  cut  off  so  shortly  that  I  cried  out: 

"  What  an  awful  thing  it  is  to  be  poor ! " 

Giving  no  heed  to  my  interjection,  she  went  on:  "I 
vent  to  England  to  service.  I  work  for  a  madame  who 
was  sweet  —  Engleesh  —  but  oh,  so  cold !  The  Engleesh, 
they  know  not  how  to  forgeeve.  Forgeeveness  is  such  a 
leetle  thing ;  but  when  a  woman  does  not  know  what  a  big 
thing  life  ees,  f orgeeveness  seems  not  so  leetle !  " 

She  finished  the  last  of  her  lengthy  harangue  with  a 
huskiness  that  roughened  her  voice.  In  haste,  she  threw 
up  the  window,  pressed  the  button  for  the  garbage  lift, 
and  stood  swallowing  hard  while  the  iron  cage  squeaked  its 
way  upward  and  stopped  gratingly  before  her.  After 
shifting  the  pan  to  the  shelf,  Zadie  touched  the  white  but- 
ton and  watched  the  lift  disappear  into  the  shadows  below. 
Then  she  came  slowly  back  with  an  unusual  pallor  on  her 
face,  spreading  out  her  fingers  expressively.  I  did  not 
quite  understand  her  gesture.  She  noted  my  puzzled  ex- 
pression and  proceeded : 

"  Mignonne,  I  ees  sad  for  you.     You  will  learn  right 


54  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

enough,  very  soon  —  ah,  yes,  ver*  soon,  ma  cherie.  Pau- 
vre  mtgnonne!  " 

But  she  did  not  explain  what  she  meant,  and  I  hastened 
her  on  with  her  story  : 

"After  I  had  been  there  a  long  time,  I  remembered  I 
was  ver'  happy.  I  was  learning  to  spik  Engleesh.  Mad- 
ame's  son  came  home,  an'  he  told  me  he  lufed  me." 

"  No  wonder  he  loved  you,  Zadie ! "  I  exclaimed  as  she 
stopped  again.  "  You  must  have  been  a  perfect  dear  when 
you  were  young." 

"  I  tell  you  he  said  he  lufed  me,  an'  so  he  deed  then ; 
but  eet  was  only  a  man's  luf,  lasting  one  day,  one  week, 
ma  cherie,  and  after  that  —  zt !  no  more !  "  She  snapped 
her  fingers  fiercely. 

"  Poor  Zadie ! "  I  murmured ;  for  in  my  mind  I  saw  the 
picture  of  the  lonely  little  French  girl  and  the  young 
master  whose  love  was  given  at  such  usurer's  rates. 

"  Well,  there  ees  not  much  more,"  Zadie  said  grimly, 
taking  up  her  darning.  "  I  leP  England  because  hees 
mother  made  me.  I  lef  heem  an' — " 

"And  what?"  I  asked  breathlessly.  "And  what, 
Zadie?" 

Her  raddled,  kindly  face  grew  softer,  her  eyes  dim. 

"  There  was  a  bebe  —  a  bebe.  His  mother  say  I  mus' 
gif  her  the  leetle  child,  and  go  away  to  France.  She  say 
it  was  for  Rupert's  sake.  Oh,  Mignonne,  my  heart  was 
torn !  I  lufed  my  bebe  —  oh,  I  lufed  heem !  He  was  Eng- 
leesh, such  a  fine  boy!  But  I  knew  what  a  life  he  would 
haf  with  me.  I  thought  of  my  bebe  here  in  Paris  weez  a 
mother  he  could  not  be  —  well,  my  cherie,  proud  of ;  so  I 
keesed  heem  goodby  one  day,  came  away,  and  never  went 
back." 

"  Is  he  living,"  I  asked  after  a  few  moments ;  for  I  re- 
spected the  twitching  of  her  lips,  and  the  endeavor  to  hide 
her  emotion, — "  the  child,  I  mean  ?  " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  55 

"  Oui;  but  hees  father  ees  dead.  I  read  eet  in  the  paper. 
My  boy  ees  nineteen  now ;  but  he  ees  never  to  know  about 
hees  mother." 

I  imagined  a  typical  English  home  and  a  handsome  boy 
of  nineteen,  Zadie's  child,  living,  perhaps,  the  methodical, 
provincial  life  of  England,  and  I  ejaculated: 

"  No,  of  course  not !     Of  course  not !  '* 

Then  I  felt  sorry  that  I  had  said  it;  for  Zadie's  face 
drew  down  in  pain.  She  walked  to  the  window  and  looked 
out  into  the  darkness.  Ashamed,  I  followed  her. 

"  I  only  meant,  Dear,"  I  tried  to  explain,  putting  my 
arms  round  her  neck,  "  that  the  boy  would  suffer  if  he 
thought  his  mother  were  —  here." 

**  Oui,  he  would.  He  thinks  hees  mother  ees  there  weez 
him,"  said  she.  "  I  never  sleep  or  wake  that  I  not  long  to 
see  my  boy.  I  luf ed  hees  father  so !  Eet  is  like  that,  the 
life  of  us." 

Here  ensued  a  silence  so  prolonged  that  Violetta  whined 
again,  and  presently  put  up  her  little  paws  as  a  gentle  re- 
minder that  she  preferred  a  warm  lap  to  the  drafts  of  the 
floor. 

All  at  once  a  light  flaring  from  a  window  above  us  cast 
a  pantomime  of  moving  shadows  on  the  whitewashed  wall 
of  the  house  at  the  back  of  the  garden.  We  saw  the  clear 
silhouette  of  a  man  gesticulating  to  the  shadow  of  a 
woman.  Immediately  afterward  appeared  the  image  of  a 
second  man  holding  a  bundle  in  his  arms  which  he  held  out 
toward  the  woman.  Zadie  and  I  pressed  closer  to  the 
window  to  distinguish  where  the  silent  drama  was  being 
played ;  but  before  we  could  solve  the  mystery  a  curtain  was 
drawn  and  the  garden  was  in  darkness. 

"  Ees  you  ever  going  to  tell  him  —  your  man,  of  your 
life  here?  "  Zadie  asked  later,  when  we  had  pulled  the  cur- 
tains and  were  seated  in  the  lighted  room. 

«  No,  no !  "  I  cried.     "  I  can't  —  I  can't !     To  him  I 


56  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

want  to  be  the  best  girl  in  all  the  world  —  the  very  best. 
I  think  of  him  all  through  the  night  on  the  boulevards, 
and  when  I  come  home  I  pray  for  him  so  hard,  so  fervently, 
that  if  there  is  a  God  I  know  He  will  answer.  I  had  rather 
have  his  love  and  his  thoughts  than  all  the  money  in 
France ! " 

"  You  would  be  a  bad,  bad  girl,  Pheelis,  if  — " 

I  shivered  and  pushed  Violetta  to  the  floor.  She  gave 
a  forlorn  yap  and  ran  to  Zadie. 

"  My  love  for  Roger  Everard  will  keep  me  as  good  as 
nothing  else  can,  Dear." 

"  Poor  leetle  American  fool ! "  Zadie  observed  grimly. 
"  The  man  you  luf  will  be  your  enemy,  the  most  terreeble 
enemy  in  the  world, —  more  terreeble  than  the  boulevard 
with  all  eets  ugly  ways,  all  eets  bad  men, —  thees  beautiful 
man  you  luff." 

"  Hush,  Zadie,  hush !  He  could  lift  me  to  the  very 
light  of  Heaven  if  he  should  tell  me  that  he  loved  me  — " 
Then,  catching  myself  together,  my  voice  trailed  off  into 
silence.  I  am  sometimes  ashamed  of  my  hot,  demanding 
blood. 

"  He  breeng  you  down  to  hell,  more  likely,"  Zadie  said, 
setting  her  lips  and  nursing  her  knee.  "  Eet  ees  only  men 
we  luf  who  do  that.  I  think  you  ees  no  different  from 
other  women.  You  will  go  through  eet,  Cherie,  you  will 
go  through  eet,  like  Zadie !  And  look  at  me !  " 

The  great,  dyed  red  head  was  poised  like  that  of  an  an- 
gry animal.  Her  eyes  deepened  beneath  their  blackened 
lashes.  Then,  with  a  half  bitter  laugh,  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  patted  my  hand.  I  could  read  in  her  face 
a  genuine  love  for  me. 

Before  I  could  answer,  the  piercing  cry  of  a  child  broke 
in  upon  us.  It  came  from  somewhere  near  the  roof-line. 
We  both  rose  to  our  feet. 

"  Was  eet  a  cat?  "  asked  Zadie  after  a  moment. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  57 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  it  was  a  child,  a  very  young  child,  and 
suffering,  I  know." 

Going  to  the  window  and  pulling  back  the  curtain,  I 
looked  out  into  the  night.  I  discerned  the  dim  outline  of 
a  cat  prowling  on  the  garden  fence ;  but  I  knew  the  sound 
had  not  come  from  this  stealthy  animal,  half  hidden  by  the 
dead,  tossing  vines.  For  several  minutes  Zadie  stood  be- 
side me.  Twice  again  the  scream  rang  out  far  above  our 
heads ;  but  the  second  cry  was  stopped  by  a  nursing  bot- 
tle —  so  Zadie  said.  The  cries  were  so  different  from 
those  which  would  have  come  from  the  healthy  lungs  of  a 
hungry  babe ! 

"  That  makes  me  theenk,"  put  in  Zadie,  when  we  had 
reseated  ourselves.  "  I  read  in  the  afternoon  paper  that 
a  lady  lifirrg  in  the  Bois  has  lost  her  bebe." 

"  How  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Someone  stole  eet,  poor  soul !     There  —  read  eet." 

I  took  the  paper  and  caught  the  name  of  Larodi.  Then 
I  passed  it  back  to  Zadie. 

"  Tell  me  what  it  says :   I  can't  read  it  all,"  I  implored. 

"  That  a  woman  —  rich  —  her  husband  ees  dead  —  had 
a  leetle  new  bebe.  Someone  took  eet  away  from  her  yes- 
terday." 

"  How  wicked !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  And,  Zadie,  I  know  the 
woman's  family.  Her  people  were  some  of  my  first  friends 
in  Paris." 

"  Not  ver*  good  friends,"  grunted  Zadie. 

The  loss  of  Count  Larodi's  little  nephew  passed  quickly 
from  my  mind;  but  just  before  I  tumbled  into  bed  I  won- 
dered if  the  little  lost  child  were  back  again  safe  in  ita 
mother's  arms. 


ZADIE  was  frying  a  bit  of  meat  when  I  ran  into  her 
rooms. 
"  That  child's  cry  haunted  me  all  the  time  I  was 
sleeping,"  I  said,  going  to  the  window.     "  Have  you  heard 
it  again?  " 

"  No ;  I  think  it  was  hungry,  that  ees  all." 

"  But  it  was  in  this  house,  above  us." 

61  Oh,  perhaps  some  girl  has  her  bebe  weez  her,"  replied 
Zadie.  "  The  leetle  thing  was  hungry.  Sit  down  and 
eat." 

It  was  almost  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  and  al- 
ready getting  dusk.  Zadie  lighted  the  smoky  lamp,  cut 
two  huge  pieces  of  bread  from  a  long  loaf,  and  we  began 
our  meal.  We  were  unusually  melancholy,  and  ate  our 
dinner  with  but  few  words.  Suddenly,  without  the  slight- 
est warning,  we  were  terrorized  into  action  by  another 
scream  breaking  from  above,  and  echoing  and  reechoing 
about  our  ears.  Zadie  pushed  her  chair  back  heavily.  I 
ran  to  the  window  and  looked  up.  There  was  the  noise  of 
a  closing  sash ;  then  all  was  quiet. 

Just  before  dinner,  Zadie  had  drawn  up  the  garbage  lift 
and  had  forgotten  to  lower  it.  In  a  moment  of  impulse 
I  opened  the  window,  and  before  she  could  object  stepped 
into  the  cage,  touched  the  button,  and  was  carried  slowly 
upward.  I  felt  I  must  find  that  child.  It  might  be  alone 
and  in  danger. 

Crouching  in  the  iron  cage,  I  kept  my  eye  to  the  chain 
hole.  Passing  each  floor,  I  saw  the  inmate  of  the  room 

58 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  59 

still  in  bed,  sleeping  her  tired  sleep  after  the  long  night's 
work. 

At  the  top,  before  a  cracked  window,  the  car  came  to  a 
standstill.  A  bare-floored  room,  lighted  by  a  single  little 
lamp,  shown  blurred  and  indistinct  through  the  dirty  pane. 
The  sash  slipped  up  as  I  touched  it,  and  I  could  see  strange 
apparatus  and  poisonous  looking  messes  in  bottles  on  the 
shelves. 

The  place  was  as  silent  as  a  tomb, —  silent  with  a  mys- 
tery that  congealed  my  blood  and  froze  my  heart  within 
me.  I  was  looking  upon  a  secret  room  the  like  of  which 
I  had  never  seen  before.  I  had  only  to  touch  the  button 
of  the  lift  again  to  glide  safely  back  to  Zadie ;  but  at  that 
moment  my  spirit  of  investigation  grew  stronger  than  my 
fear,  and  I  stepped  over  the  sill  into  the  room.  With 
bated  breath  I  silently  moved  forward  a  pace.  My  fool- 
hardy action  was  stayed  by  a  voice  speaking  English  in 
another  room. 

"  Where  does  that  draft  come  from?  " 

A  woman's  guttural  voice  fretfully  replied,  "  I  don't 
know,  nor  care,  Abbott." 

"  All  right,  then.  Let's  give  the  brat  a  drink.  That 
fellow'll  be  here  in  a  minute." 

I  heard  them  coming  toward  me,  the  woman's  heels  click- 
ing as  she  walked.  My  knees  shook  under  me.  I  would 
go  back  by  the  way  I  had  come!  I  turned  breathlessly 
about  and  flung  one  foot  over  the  windowsill,  at  the  same 
time  fumbling  for  the  button  to  start  the  lift.  In  my  ex- 
citement my  fingers  could  not  find  the  small  knob. 

By  staying  where  I  was,  I  should  certainly  be  found; 
for  the  person  with  the  deep  voice  was  already  near  the 
doorway,  and  even  if  I  bent  in  the  lift  I  should  be  dis- 
covered. A  hasty  survey  of  the  room  disclosed  a  cupboard 
with  an  open  door.  I  turned  back,  lightly  crossed  to  it, 


60  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

pushed  the  door  wider,  slipped  in,  partly  closed  it  after  me, 
and  sank  into  the  dark  corner. 

The  horror  of  the  awful  place  grew  upon  me,  almost 
making  me  witless.  I  shook  like  an  aspen  leaf.  It  was 
an  unknown  fear  that  decided  me  to  stay  hidden  until  I 
could  escape  unnoticed.  The  footsteps  coming  nearer  ar- 
rested my  loud  breathing.  A  man  in  house-slippers,  with- 
out a  coat,  halted  in  the  doorway.  He  was  young,  short, 
and  solidly  built,  with  hair  hanging  in  thick  strands  over 
a  high  forhead. 

"•The  window  is  open,  confound  it!"  he  growled  in 
English.  "  And  that  damned  concierge  has  sent  the  lift 
up  here.  Anyone  would  think  we  sent  garbage  down  a 
dozen  times  a  day." 

He  leaned  forward,  touched  the  button,  and  the  lift 
creaked  out  of  sight.  The  window  rolled  down,  and  I 
was  left  with  no  visible  means  of  escape.  The  man's  pres- 
ence filled  me  with  a  sense  of  terrible  danger,  and  I  longed 
wildly  to  be  downstairs  with  Zadie. 

Suddenly  from  the  floor,  close  by  my  side,  came  the  pro- 
longed, harassed  cry  of  a  child.  I  shrank  back  fright- 
ened into  the  corner.  The  man  growled  something  I  didn't 
catch,  gave  the  cupboard  door  a  kick,  banging  it  in  my 
face,  and  I  was  in  darkness. 

A  scraping  noise  sounding  at  my  left  aroused  me. 
Stealthily  I  put  out  my  hand,  groping  over  the  thing.  It 
was  the  warm,  curly  head  of  a  young  infant  who  was 
strapped  to  a  board  like  an  Indian's  papoose,  with  a  band- 
age drawn  closely  over  its  forehead.  I  dared  not  loosen 
it,  fearing  the  child  might  cry  again ;  but  I  ran  my  fingers 
over  the  small  body.  Then  I  remembered  that  the  rooms 
were  over  Zadie's.  These  must  have  been  built  on  the 
same  plan.  The  cupboard  was  a  long  one  with  two  doors. 
The  child  must  be  almost  opposite  the  other  door. 

The  man  outside  grunted  irritably,  rose,  opened  the  cup- 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  61 

board  door  farthest  from  me,  and  shoved  in  a  huge  hand. 
The  child  was  dragged  out,  and  I  dared  say  no  word. 
The  little  fellow  must  have  been  hurt  by  the  movement; 
but  as  he  cried  sharply  the  man  caught  the  sound  in  his 
fat  hand.  A  tiny  crack  in  the  panel  of  the  door  made  it 
possible  for  my  eyes  to  follow  the  movements  of  those  in 
the  room,  and  a  powerful  desire  to  learn  the  fate  of  the 
babe  possessed  me  and  covered  my  body  with  a  cold  sweat. 
The  woman  placed  herself  in  a  chair,  and  the  fat  fellow, 
with  the  child  stretched  out,  bound  to  a  board  with  four 
separate  cords,  sat  facing  her.  I  couldn't  imagine  what 
they  were  about  to  do. 

"  The  blasted  little  creature  doesn't  seem  to  respond 
very  well  to  the  treatment,"  said  the  fat  man.  "  It  doesn't 
seem  to  have  made  the  slightest  impression  upon  him.  He's 
a  tough  little  beggar,  damn  him ! " 

His  companion  replied  something  in  broken  English. 

"  It  isn't  safe  to  let  the  brat  yelp,"  went  on  the  man ; 
"  but  he  can't  breathe  if  his  mouth  is  covered.  Give  him 
a  drink." 

Avidly  the  child  sucked  the  milk  from  the  spoon.  What 
were  they  going  to  do  with  it,  and  what  was  their  object 
in  strapping  it  to  the  board? 

A  light  rap  at  the  outside  door  caused  them  to  slip  the 
babe  back  to  its  place  beside  me.  The  milk  had  slightly 
soothed  the  child,  and  I  imagined  that  it  was  becoming 
used  to  the  hurt ;  for  it  was  only  a  whimper  that  lifted  up 
from  the  darkness.  As  I  put  my  hand  gently  down  upon 
the  bandaged  head,  I  had  a  desire  to  scream,  to  grasp  the 
child  from  the  floor  and  fly.  But  between  me  and  freedom 
was  the  short  man  and  the  woman  who  rolled  her  words 
upward  from  her  throat.  Another  knock,  and  the  man 
slipped  back  the  bolt,  stepped  aside,  and  allowed  a  figure 
to  pass  in.  The  instant  the  door  closed  the  bolt  shot  back 
to  its  position.  After  the  curt  words  of  greeting  had 


62 

passed  between  them,  I  bent  lower  to  see  the  newcomer's 
face.  Casperone  Larodi,  with  a  bundle  in  his  arms,  stood 
facing-  the  fat  man.  The  heavy-lidded  blue  eyes,  the 
curled  mustache,  and  the  well-trained  Vandyke  were  all 
familiar  to  me.  Not  once  after  that  did  I  take  my  eyes 
from  the  crack  in  the  door.  I  would  discover  some  reason 
for  the  little  atom  at  my  side,  the  seething  bottles,  and 
Casperone's  presence. 

Count  Larodi  dropped  into  a  chair.  "A  note  was 
brought  you  this  afternoon.  You  expected  me? "  he 
asked. 

The  fat  man  nodded  and  glanced  at  the  woman  warn- 
ingly.  She  heeded  the  silent  order,  not  moving,  save  to 
fold  her  hands. 

"  Here,  take  the  child,"  said  Casperone  at  last.  "  I'm 
dead  tired  of  it,  and  I  want  the  work  well  done.  You 
hear  ?  "  He  said  this  huskily.  "  It  must  be  sure ! " 

"  Monsieur  wants  the  work  sure,  Ann.  Dis  done,  dls 
done!  My  wife  knows.  'Twill  be  sure  enough!  You 
don't  need  fear." 

But  the  woman  with  a  strained  expression  maintained 
silence. 

"  The  work  will  be  done,"  the  man  repeated  again. 

"  When  ?  "  asked  Casperone. 

"  Not  until  Monsieur  is  ready  to  tell  who  the  child  is, 
and  why  the  operation  is  to  be  performed." 

Count  Larodi's  reply  was  inaudible.  For  a  moment 
there  rose  before  me  the  picture  of  a  woman  passing  fair ; 
but  it  quickly  faded,  so  absorbed  was  I  in  him. 

"  Do  you  think  me  an  ass  ? "  he  exclaimed  presently. 
"  Do  you  really  think  I  am  going  to  place  myself  in  your 
hands?  If  God  ever  made  a  better  pair  of  villains  than 
you  two,  I'd  like  to  see  them ! "  Casperone's  eyes  flashed 
over  the  man  and  woman  as  he  ended.  "  Your  business 
should  teach  you  to  dispense  with  curiosity." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  63 

A  curious  half-smile  flitted  over  the  fat  man's  face,  and 
he  allowed  his  gaze  to  rest  upon  the  woman. 

"  God  made  us  to  do  service  for  such  as  you,"  he  an- 
swered, turning  slightly  in  his  chair.  "  Never  for  one 
moment  get  it  into  your  head  that  we  would  cause  you  any 
worry  afterward.  We  only  want  to  be  sure  of  the  man 
we're  dealing  with,  and  to  drag  you,  Monsieur,  into  the 
mud  as  deeply  as  we  go  into  the  mire.  It  is  a  rule  of  this 
establishment  not  to  deal  with  anyone  who  hasn't  sufficient 
money  to  stand  by  us  if  we  get  into  trouble.  And  then, 
too,  we  want  to  know  what  to  do  with  the  child,  if  you 
should  happen  to  die  —  to  carry  out  Monsieur's  plans, 
that's  all." 

After  a  moment's  reflection,  Casperone  said  in  a  hard 
voice,  "  He  is  my  brother's  child,  and  I  bribed  its  nurse 
yesterday  to  take  it  from  its  mother." 

I  sickened,  nearly  fainted;  for  I  realized  that  this  man 
was  not  only  unprincipled  —  my  own  experience  had 
taught  me  that  —  but  also  a  criminal.  I  now  knew  who 
was  responsible  for  the  kidnapping  of  the  baby  of  which 
Zadie  and  I  had  read. 

Just  at  that  moment  another  whimper  rose  from  my 
side.  Again  I  touched  the  bandaged  head,  easing  the 
edge  of  the  rubber  strap  with  the  tips  of  my  fingers. 

"  You  say  the  work  is  very  sure?  "  asked  Casperone, 
after  meditation. 

"  Is  the  work  sure,  Ann?  " 

Abbott  said  this  to  the  woman  cunningly ;  but  she  made 
no  reply,  merely  raised  her  hand  deprecatingly,  giving  a 
sidelong  glance  at  the  Count.  The  sly  question  and  an- 
swering gestures  sounded  a  child's  death  knell. 

"  I  wish  it  were  over,"  was  all  Casperone  said,  rising  and 
going  toward  the  window,  a  sinister  expression  darkening 
his  face.  It  was  intermingled  with  fear,  hesitation,  and 
disgust. 


64  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

I  flushed  with  shame  as  I  remembered  his  impassioned 
words  to  me,  his  protestations  about  love  and  marriage. 

Not  for  one  moment  did  I  take  my  fingers  from  under 
the  strap  on  the  curly  little  head  at  my  elbow.  The  hurt 
baby  and  I  were  becoming  fast  friends.  Oh !  how  I  should 
have  liked  —  but  there  was  the  whining  baby  in  the 
woman's  lap  to  think  of.  It  lay  unrolled  from  the  several 
blankets  that  had  protected  it  from  the  cold.  Only  God 
in  Heaven  knew  whether  or  not  I  should  be  able  to  save 
both  babies  and  myself;  but  of  this  I  was  resolved:  If  I 
ever  left  those  rooms  alive,  those  two  babies  should  go 
with  me!  I  knew  who  the  fat  baby  was;  but  the  other, 
the  tiny  sufferer  at  my  side,  was  a  little  stranger  to  me. 
If  I  could  only  tear  the  rubber  band,  or  loosen  it  some 
way !  But  I  dared  not,  fearing  another  scream. 

Casperone  was  speaking  again.  "  It  is  not  very  pleas- 
ant," he  remarked,  returning  to  his  chair,  with  his  gloves 
in  his  hand,  "  to  uncover  family  skeletons  before  stran- 
gers." 

"  My  Lord  is  with  friends,"  said  the  fat  man  obsequi- 
ously. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,  I  know ;  but  how  long  —  will  it 
take  to  complete  that  job?  " 

"  It  depends  upon  what  you  want  done,"  was  the  reply. 

Casperone  pointed  his  forefinger  at  the  rosy-faced  child 
who  was  now  looking  quietly  at  the  lamplight  with  that 
wise  expression  that  rests  in  the  eyes  of  all  young  children. 

"  You  see,  the  fact  is,"  he  explained,  "  that  this  child 
must  lose  its  identity.  Its  mother  is  my  sister-in-law,  and 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  this  brat  I  should  have  come  in  for 
some  money  from  my  dead  brother.  And  with  the  fortune 
I  should  have  been  able  to  marry  a  girl  I  love.  I  do  not 
want  the  child  to  die.  I  can  stand  anything  but  murder. 
Murder  would  mean  the  loss  of  our  heads,  if  it  came  to 
light." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  65 

He  glanced  significantly  from  Abbott  to  the  woman. 
Over  the  dark  face  of  Ann  swept  an  expression  of  terror, 
and  the  fat  man  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  The  mother  will  never  recognize  her  baby  in  a  blind 
beggar !  "  The  Count's  voice  pronounced  the  words  care- 
fully. 

Again  the  picture  of  the  stolen  baby's  mother  flashed  to 
my  mind.  My  fingers  itched  to  carry  it  back  to  her ;  but 
it  seemed  hopeless  when  I  considered  the  obstacles  to  be 
overcome. 

A  whine  at  my  side  —  I  had  forgotten  to  lift  the  rub- 
ber strap ;  for  the  little  fellow  outside  had  claimed  my  at- 
tention for  a  minute. 

"  Don't  use  methods  that  are  apt  to  kill  him,"  Casperone 
broke  in,  with  an  ugly  smile.  "  What  I  want  done  will 
allow  him  a  means  of  livelihood.  I  only  want  him  to  pass 
his  life—" 

"  In  darkness,"  added  the  fat  man,  his  eyes  roving  over 
the  woman  contemplatively.  "  Then  Monsieur  will  pay 
the  money  now  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  the  child  later?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  that  when  I'm  ready.  Keep  it  here  until 
I  notify  you.  How  much  money  do  you  want  tonight?  " 

After  some  parleying  between  the  men  a  sum  was  paid, 
large  and  exorbitant, —  the  price  of  the  wondering  blue 
eyes  of  the  infant, —  baby  eyes  that  searched  the  light  for 
the  mystery  of  the  shining ! 

In  another  moment  Casperone  was  gone,  leaving  a  huge 
roll  of  notes  and  the  young  babe.  Now  was  the  time  to 
make  some  plan !  I  could  not  rescue  the  children  unless 
I  took  them  with  me,  and  I  knew  where  to  go  if  I  could 
once  get  out  of  that  door  through  which  Casperone  had 
disappeared.  If  there  were  only  the  woman  to  face !  But 
the  man,  too  I 


66  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Through  the  crack  my  eye  measured  as  accurately  as 
possible  the  distance  from  the  child  on  the  chair  to  the 
door.  Silently  I  lifted  the  infant  beside  me  to  ascertain 
its  weight.  It  was  such  a  tiny  creature !  If  I  could  fasten 
it  about  me  somewhere  so  as  to  have  both  hands  ready  for 
the  new  baby,  I  should  make  an  effort  to  escape.  Just  as 
this  thought  took  root  in  my  brain,  the  woman  rose  from 
the  chair  and  came  directly  toward  the  cupboard. 

"  Dis  done,  dis  done!  "  growled  Abbott.  "  Let  the  brat 
alone  when  he's  quiet.  Sit  down !  " 

Obediently  the  woman  dropped  into  her  chair.  At  the 
same  time  the  little  baby  gasped  sleepily,  making  a  wee 
gurgling  sound  that  went  to  my  heart. 

"  We'll  be  getting  out  of  this  place  before  long,"  went 
on  Abbott. 

"  Are  we  going  very  soon  ?  "  asked  Ann.  "  Aren't  we 
going  to  —  to  operate  on  that  child?  "  The  words  came 
hesitatingly  from  her  lips. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  don't  like  the  work,  Abbott.     It  seems  — " 

"  Don't  trouble  your  head  about  making  it  seem  any- 
thing, Ann.  We've  got  to  have  money !  You  do  as  I 
say,  you  hear?  " 

"  Yes,  Abbott." 

"  Then  go  like  a  good  girl  to  the  kitchen  and  get  some- 
thing ready  to  eat.  I'll  be  in  after  a  bit.  Get  some  hot 
soup:  the  room's  cold.  We  won't  be  here  much  longer, 
Ann,"  the  man  continued ;  "  so  don't  cry." 

"  It  hasn't  been  an  easy  life,  Abbott ;  but  I  love  you  — 
that's  why  I  stay,  I  s'pose." 

She  went  out,  closing  the  door,  and  her  footsteps 
sounded  from  the  inner  room. 

I  prayed  that  I  might  be  given  strength  to  carry  the 
wee  babe  back  to  its  mother :  to  the  other  one,  Zadie  and  I 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  67 

would  give  refuge.  But  the  first  great  problem  that  faced 
me  before  disposing  of  the  babies  was  to  get  them 
from  this  room  with  its  shadow  of  hideous  mystery.  The 
little  one  on  the  chair  still  gazed  sleepily  at  the  light,  and 
for  a  few  moments  the  fat  man  sat  watching  it.  I  should 
have  given  much  to  have  read  his  thoughts.  I  wanted  to 
know  what  vice  had  brought  him  to  such  an  occupation 
as  this.  Slowly  and  almost  mechanically  he  leaned  over 
and  pulled  a  piece  of  thread  from  the  child's  puckered  fin- 
gers and  straightened  its  body  into  a  more  comfortable 
position. 

I  wondered  vaguely  if  it  would  be  of  use  to  plead  with 
him;  but  the  thought  was  frightened  from  my  mind  by 
his  sudden  rise  from  the  chair.  My  heart  thumped  when 
I  saw  him  take  a  bowl  of  seething  acid  from  the  shelf  and 
place  it  on  the  table  near  him.  Then  he  seated  himself 
with  his  back  to  me.  I  stooped  softly;  for  my  hour  had 
come.  The  maternal  instinct  rose  in  my  heart,  and  with 
the  determination  of  a  rat  ferociously  gnawing  its  own 
foot  from  a  steel  trap  I  set  my  teeth  into  the  rubber  about 
the  baby's  brow,  biting  and  chewing  the  strong  band  until 
I  felt  it  glide  away  from  the  hurt  flesh.  The  wounded 
head  fell  downward,  a  long  cry  bursting  from  the  lips  of 
the  infant.  I  tore  the  cord  from  my  kimono  and  wrapped 
it  twice  about  the  child.  One  whimper,  and  that  was  all. 
Adjusting  the  babe  on  my  shoulders  without  a  sound,  I 
fastened  it  securely.  Then,  opening  the  door,  I  stepped 
into  the  lighted  room,  and  with  a  sudden  dash  lifted  the 
vessel  from  the  table  and  threw  acid  and  all  over  the  fat 
man's  head.  He  gave  a  great  howl  —  I  imagine  he 
thought  a  she-devil  had  set  upon  him.  I  snatched  the  sec- 
ond babe  from  the  chair,  bounded  to  the  door,  unbolted  it, 
and  fled  down  the  stairs. 

The  child  on  my  back  swung  to  and  fro,  its  weight 


68 

straining  and  stretching  the  silken  cord.  The  tiny  one 
received  a  sounding  bang  on  its  head  and  emitted  a  loud 
cry  just  as  I  rounded  the  corner  of  the  staircase. 

I  could  hear  the  terrific,  maddened  cries  from  the  man 
above,  and  for  one  short  minute  pity  stirred  my  soul;  but 
I  knew  that  the  woman  with  the  sad  face  and  guttural 
voice  was  with  him  —  for  she  loved  him.  I  opened  Zadie's 
door  and  tumbled  in,  and  all  I  could  say  was  : 

"  Zadie !  Zadie  darling !  Dear  God !  I  have  them 
both!»y 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  was  Zadie's  suggestion  that  I  should  go  to  the  Bois 
to  restore  the  Larodi  baby  to  its  mother.     Although 
I  feared  meeting  Casperone,  it  would  be  one  of  Heav- 
en's delights  to  see  her  receive  back  her  stolen  child. 

"  I  simply  don't  dare  go,  Zadie,"  I  said  slowly. 

"  You  must  go,  ma  petite!  You  warn  the  mother  to 
nefer  let  that  bad  uncle  see  the  leetle  boy  again  —  you 
want  heem  to  steal  it  back  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  don't,  Zadie,  and  I  suppose  I  must  go ; 
but  I'm  afraid." 

"  Oui,  oui!  Pom !  afraid,  after  what  you  haf  tonight 
done?  Drink,  drink,  and  begone  with  eet !  " 

"  If  it  all  becomes  public,  Zadie,  and  they  find  me  out, 
keep  my  name  if  you  can.  If  it  were  to  get  into  the 
newspapers  — '*  the  mere  thought  made  me  gasp. 

"  I  not  know  your  name,  Pheelis  Fitzpatrick,"  said  Za- 
die stolidly. 

"  If  the  police  come  and  make  you  tell  it,  you  simply 
say  that  I  am  Christobel  McCall,  can't  you?  " 

"  Oui,  oui!  "  grunted  Zadie.     "  Geet  out !  " 

I  went  away  with  the  baby  cuddled  warmly  in  my  arms. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  I  was  riding  through  the  Champs- 
Elysees,  my  heart  beating  so  strongly  that  the  rise  and  fall 
of  my  bosom  acted  as  a  cradle  to  the  sleeping  child. 

My  face  paled  as  I  thought  of  my  position.  What 
would  the  morrow  bring  out  of  the  tragedy?  What 
would  the  future  bring  to  me?  Not  discovery;  for  but 
two  filled  my  heart  as  I  sat  thinking, —  America  and  Roger 
Everard ! 

69 


70  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Under  the  seductiveness  of  the  lights  in  the  Bois,  string- 
ing themselves  into  small  stars  away  beyond  me  for  miles, 
I  gave  myself  up  to  the  charm  of  contact  with  the  warm 
young  thing  in  my  arms.  I  lifted  the  covering  and 
caught  my  breath.  Never  had  I  been  so  close  to  so  young 
an  infant,  never  had  I  listened  to  a  soft-coming  baby- 
breath,  nor  felt  the  beat  of  a  tender  heart  against  mine. 
Several  times  I  kissed  him,  allowing  my  lips  to  linger  long 
on  the  pink  skin.  Some  day,  I  —  I  —  I  want  a  baby  —  a 
lot  of  babies.  Even  now,  as  I  think  this,  I  feel  the  blood 
rush  hot  to  my  ears.  Such  a  thought  always  brings  Roger 
closer  to  me. 

At  the  Larodi  mansion,  the  servant  confronted  me  with 
profound  solemnity. 

"  You  understand  I  must  see  her,  if  for  only  a  moment," 
I  pleaded  fearfully. 

"  It  is  impossible,  Mademoiselle.  Impossible !  Abso- 
lutely impossible!  Madame  is  ill." 

"  Will  you  say  to  her  that  I  have  something  to  tell  her 
—  something  about  her  child?" 

The  butler  surveyed  me  from  head  to  foot.  The  bun- 
idle  in  my  arms  caught  his  attention. 

"  Come  in,"  said  he. 

I  was  given  a  chair  in  the  small  reception  room.  It 
was  in  this  house  that  the  child  had  been  born.  It  was  here 
that  the  young  mother  had  vainly  implored  someone  to 
find  it,  and  it  was  here  that  it  was  to  be  given  back  to  her 
unharmed. 

I  heard  the  butler  whisper  the  message  to  the  maid,  and 
footsteps  hurry  along  the  corridor  above.  Then  a  tired 
voice  called  out: 

"  Matilda,  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  It's  only  a  woman,  Madame,  who  says  — " 

"  That  —  that  —  she  knows  something  about  my 
baby?" 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  71 

The  stress  on  the  last  word  brought  a  choke  to  my 
throat,  and  it  rent  me  through  and  through.  I  thought 
of  the  fat  man  and  Larodi's  dark  face  as  he  gave  the  child 
to  the  woman. 

"  Then  I'll  see  her,  Matilda,"  came  the  voice  again. 
"  I'm  not  ill,  I  say !  Only  in  my  heart,  you  know.  Do 
you  hear?  I  will  see  her !  I  shall  be  all  well,  when  I  have 
my  baby.  I  am  going  down  —  I  must  see  her !  " 

I  nerved  myself  to  meet  the  vision  that  appeared.  I 
saw  a  face  as  pale  as  a  white  rose,  ears  tinted  with  the 
finger  of  youth,  a  girlish  body  vibrant  with  hope,  as  the 
mother  of  the  babe  stood  before  me.  'Twas  the  same  fair, 
sweet  American  girl  I  had  seen  in  the  picture  at  Countess 
Larodi's.  Her  eyes  took  me  in  as  had  the  servant's. 
There  we  were,  two  women,  looking  deep  into  each  other's 
eyes,  with  a  little  living  bond  of  humanity  drawing  us  to- 
gether. 

"  You  \fanted  to  see  me,  Mademoiselle  ? "  she  asked 
kindly.  "  Ah,  yes,  my  poor  child !  You  have  a  baby  of 
your  own.  You  want  me  to  aid  you.  Oh,  I  shall  —  I 
will !  Anything  you  ask  —  for  — " 

Holding  out  the  bundle,  I  broke  out  in  English,  "  I  have 
brought  back  your  baby  !  " 

Her  luminous  eyes  were  incomprehensive,  widening  un- 
til the  lids  stretched  themselves  to  their  fullest  extent. 
Her  twitching  fingers  dared  not  touch  the  child  as  I  ten- 
dered it  toward  her, 

"  It  is  yours !  "  I  insisted.  "  I  have  brought  it  home  to 
you !  "  I  threw  back  the  cape,  displaying  the  round,  red, 
sleeping  face.  With  no  visible  emotion  save  the  catching 
of  her  breath  and  the  flushing  of  the  fair  skin,  the  mother 
held  out  her  arms.  As  in  a  dream,  she  took  the  baby  and 
motioned  me  to  follow  her.  We  passed  through  the  hall 
to  a  room  beyond,  wheie  a  bright  fire  invitingly  shot  its 
embers  upon  the  hearth. 


73  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRJNS 

"  Oh,  it  can't  be  my  baby ! "  she  faltered,  pausing  be- 
fore dropping  into  a  chair.  But  the  tones  were  so 
changed,  so  different,  so  unlike  the  tired  voice  that  first 
sounded  from  above,  that  my  heart  told  me  she  had  found 
her  own. 

"  Look  at  him  and  see,"  I  said  quickly.  "  I  found  him 
—  and  there  he  is !  " 

Softly,  as  with  the  light  touch  of  an  angel,  the  young 
mother  unwrapped  the  boy,  removing  one  after  another 
of  the  garments  until  the  body  was  naked.  She  looked  it 
over  carefully ;  then  wrapped  it  closely  in  her  arms,  kisses 
covering  the  warm,  living  flesh. 

"  Dear  God !  He  —  is  mine !  May  I  be  forgiven  for 
my  lack  of  faith,  Mother  of  Christ?  Oh,  he  is  mine,  my 
baby  —  my  little  one  —  my  own  little  lamb !  But  you  are 
crying,  Mademoiselle,"  she  said,  turning  to  me.  "  Why 
do  you  cry?  I  have  my  baby,  and  we  are  both  so  happy !  " 

"  That  you  have  him  again  makes  me  —  oh  — "  It  was 
all  I  could  utter.  I  could  only  cover  my  face  with  my 
handkerchief. 

"  I  can't  cry  now,"  said  the  mother.  "  But  —  but  I 
have  forgotten  to  ask  you  where  you  found  him  ?  " 

"  You  have  a  brother?  "  I  answered  her  question  by  ask- 
ing. 

"  No,  a  brother-in-law.  He,  too,  has  suffered  over  the 
loss  of  my  baby." 

"  It  was  he  who  took  it  from  you,"  I  replied  hurriedly. 

She  pressed  the  babe  to  her,  drawing  her  loose  scarf 
about  him  until  he  was  lost  in  the  folds.  Slowly  she 
turned  a  pair  of  burning  eyes  upon  me.  "  You  are  mis- 
taken," said  she. 

"  He  is  tall,  dark,  handsome,  and  speaks  English  flu- 
ently?" 

"  Yes." 

•"  He  is  the  brother  of  your  dead  husband?  " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  73 

"  Yes."  She  shivered  as  she  answered,  reluctantly,  and 
her  arms  tightened. 

"  He  would  have  been  heir  to  a  fortune  left  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  arrival  of  your  child?  " 

"  Yes."  The  voice  was  a  wail  now ;  for  she  under- 
stood. 

"  His  intentions  were  to  keep  it  from  you,"  I  explained ; 
"  to  rob  it  of  its  sight ;  and  to  make  it  a  —  beggar  upon 
the  streets  of  Paris." 

"  No !  No !  It  cannot  be !  Casperone,  tell  me  that 
it's  not  true !  " 

"  What's  not  true,  little  sister?  " 

I  rose  to  my  feet;  for  in  the  doorway  stood  Count 
Larodi,  his  handsome  eyes  bent  inquiringly  upon  me.  As 
he  looked,  he  paled,  the  veins  standing  out  upon  his 
forehead  like  cords.  An  expression  of  surprise  and  de- 
light, mingled  with  incredulity,  leaped  out.  It  is  strange 
how  many  times  in  the  course  of  a  few  seconds  emotion 
will  change  a  human  face.  Casperone  Larodi  had  recog- 
nized me  instantly,  and  there  must  have  been  something 
about  me  that  caused  him  to  breathe  desperately  in  an  un- 
dertone : 

"  Phyllis,  why  are  you  here?  " 

"  She  has  brought  me  back  my  baby ! "  gasped  the 
mother.  The  scarf  was  lifted,  and  the  naked,  rosy  child 
brought  to  view. 

The  sight  of  the  babe  and  her  words  blanched  the  face 
of  the  man  to  his  heavy  jaws.  He  looked  from  the  infant 
to  his  sister-in-law,  and  once  more  to  me,  and  smiled  skepti- 
cally. 

"  Monsieur  will  pardon  me  for  speaking  in  English,"  I 
began,  stepping  forward ;  "  but,  as  it  is  my  mother  tongue, 
I  prefer  it.  I  rescued  the  child  from  your  friends  on  the 
Boulevard  St.  Michel  and  brought  it  back  here.  That  was 
right,  was  it  not?  " 


74  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

I  remember  how  I  delighted  in  my  sarcasm.  Could  that 
girl  talking  have  been  timid  Phyllis  Fitzpatrick,  who  was 
afraid  of  her  own  shadow  on  dark  nights  and  shrank  from 
the  evils  of  Paris  boulevards? 

The  restless  eyes  of  Count  Larodi,  wandering  from  me  to 
the  mother,  blackened  with  rage.  "  Come,  come,  my  good 
girl,"  he  said  harshly,  "  you're  laboring  under  some  de- 
lusion! Gertrude,  don't  let  her  palm  off  a  child  on  you 
that  must  be  an  imposter." 

I  laughed  hysterically,  laughed  until  he  strode  forward 
and  shook  my  arm. 

"  You  little  vixen  !     What  are  you  trying  to  do  ?  " 

"To  bring  to  justice  the  man  who  stole  that  child,"  I 
exclaimed,  bending  my  head  toward  the  crouching  woman. 
"  I  heard  you  with  your  own  lips  tell  the  tale  of  the  family 
skeleton.  I  heard  you  tell  of  your  need  of  money,  and 
of  a  girl  you  loved,  and  how  sometime  you  would  return 
for  the  baby  after  —  after  its  eyes  were  destroyed." 

Again  he  tried  to  take  hold  of  my  arm. 

"Don't  do  that!"  I  cried  sharply.  "Don't  do  that! 
I  can't  forget  how  you  gave  the  baby  to  the  fat  man,  and 
after  you  had  gone  I  watched  him  make  ready  to  wreak 
your  hellish  will  upon  the  child  yonder." 

"  For  the  love  of  our  merciful  God ! "  cried  the  mother. 

'*  Does  that  convince  you,"  I  demanded  sharply  of  her, 
"  or  do  you  want  further  proof?  " 

The  woman  rose  from  her  chair  with  a  scream.  Cas- 
perone  realized  that  there  was  nothing  more  to  hide,  and 
that  by  some  mysterious  means  I  had  found  the  child. 

He  came  closer  and  addressed  me  derisively :  "  Then 
how  came  you  in  a  house  of  ill  repute,  spying  upon  me? 
Is  this  the  innocent  jeune  fille,  the  young  girl  who  did  not 
know  anything?  " 

I  shrank  back,  and  he  was  quick  to  perceive  his  ad- 
vantage. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  75 

"  My  God !     You  affected  innocence  well ! " 

My  heart  stopped  and  began  again  to  beat  violently. 

"  Phyllis,"  he  went  on  in  a  whisper.  "  Phyllis !  You 
cannot  know  how  I  have  suffered  without  money.  I  loved 
you,  and  I  love  you  still ! "  I  felt  his  fingers  crush  my 
arm  like  a  vice.  "  I  could  have  made  you  love  me  with 
money !  How  came  it  that  you  were  —  there  ?  You  — • 
you  —  in  that  house  !  " 

I  stood  in  silence,  and  then  taunted,  "  I  saw  you  when 
you  came  in  with  the  baby  and  when  you  went  over  and 
looked  out  of  the  cracked  window." 

"  It  was  a  bestial,  horrible  place ! "  he  muttered  half 
dazedly,  with  a  shudder. 

At  that  instant  the  door  opened.  I  shall  never  know 
whether  the  bell  rang  or  not;  but  officers  seemed  to  fill 
up  every  niche  of  the  room.  They  thought,  I  suppose, 
that  I  was  one  of  the  household,  and  allowed  me  to  pass  out 
with  the  mother. 

When  we  reached  the  hall,  she  whispered  softly,  "  Go, 
please,  go !  It's  too  dreadful  to  think  about.  Hurry,  be- 
fore they  detain  you.  They  must  not  take  him!  He  is 
my  husband's  brother." 

I  slipped  into  the  Bois.  My  mind  wc.3  in  chaos.  I 
could  not  afford  to  be  brought  into  the  limelight.  I  had 
restored  the  babe,  and  that  was  enough.  I  didn't  care 
what  they  did  with  Casperone.  But  who  had  sent  the  po- 
lice to  the  house,  and  on  whose  complaint  had  they  ar- 
rested him? 

In  destroying  him,  have  I  sprung  a  mine  beneath  my 
own  feet?  In  saving  this  baby,  have  I  opened  the  door 
of  destruction  for  myself?  Casperone  will  stop  at  noth- 
ing, now  that  we  are  enemies. 

If  ever  Roger  should  find  out !  The  thought  makes  me 
shudder.  But,  of  course,  he  can't  find  out  —  he  is  in 
New  York,  and  New  York  is  so,  far  away ! 


CHAPTER  IX 

ZADIE  listened  stolidly  to  my  story.     I  carried  her 
along  so  rapidly  that  she  held  up  her  hand. 
"  I  tell  you  firs'  before  you  spik  all,  what  I  deed 
weez  the  ozzer  pauvre  petite,  poor  brat,"  she  interrupted. 
"  I  took  it  to  the  Sisters  of  Mercy." 

"  Will  they  take  good  care  of  it  ?  "  I  asked,  a  f  ullness 
in  my  throat  making  my  voice  husky. 

"  The  best  in  the  world." 

When  I  described  my  last  sight  of  the  mother,  as  she 
swayed  her  way  to  the  stairs,  Zadie  coughed.  I  saw  tears 
glisten  on  her  lashes,  and  heard  her  whisper: 

"  She  must  luf  the  leetle  devil.  The  good  God  bless 
her !  Now  I  tell  you  something,  bonne,  ires  bonne." 

"What?" 

"  The  man  and  woman  haf  gone  with  the  police.  I  saw 
them  go." 

"  Goodness !     Tell  me  about  it,  Zadie,  tell  me !  " 

"  The  man  you  poured  the  aceed  on,  he  nefer  see  again," 
cried  she.  "  He  were  awful  sight  when  they  took  heem 
out.  Eet  vas  me  sent  the  poh'ce  to  the  house  in  the  Bois. 
I  was  ver'  frightened  for  you  of  the  dark  man.  And  you 
were  such  a  bebe,  you  might  get  trouble  weez  heem." 

Like  the  silly  child,  I  began  to  cry.  If  only  I  had  not 
been  obliged  to  throw  that  acid !  I  ventured  this  thought 
tearfully;  but  Zadie  turned  roughly  upon  me. 

"  Let  heem  haf  pain !  How  many  babies  you  think  ees 
beggars,  blind  beggars,  through  his  devil'ry?  You  worry 
no  more ! " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  77 

The  papers  were  filled  with  the  story.  There  was  in- 
sistent clamor  for  a  certain  dark-haired  girl,  asserted  to 
be  pretty  and  very  young,  who  had  brought  the  child 
back  to  its  home  in  the  Bois.  How  so  valuable  a  witness 
had  slipped  through  the  hands  of  the  police,  no  one  could 
tell. 

However,  I  kept  well  out  of  sight,  and  wild  horses  could 
not  have  dragged  my  identity  from  the  good  hearted  and 
impulsive  Frenchwoman  who  went  about  her  business  in 
the  boulevards  as  unconcerned  as  before  the  tragedy. 

When  I  enter  this  house  I  look  up  through  the  mazes 
of  stairs  and  wonder.  I  hardly  know  what  I  wonder. 
Often  in  my  dreams  I  hear  the  cry  of  a  hurt  child,  or  feel 
the  cold  clutch  of  a  rubber  bandage  strapped  tightly  about 
my  head.  Once,  when  sleeping,  I  dreamed  that  the  fat 
man  leaned  over  me,  fastening  his  sightless  eyes  upon  my 
face.  I  screamed  and  wakened,  and  for  a  long  time  lay 
shaking  with  fear. 

•  ••.*••*« 

This  afternoon  loud  talking  in  the  hall  awoke  me.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  corridors  were  crowded  with  people. 
In  a  nasal  patois,  Zadie's  voice  rose  high  above  the  others. 

"  I  tell  you  all  to  go  to  the  devil !  She  did  not  tell  me 
who  she  was.  I  saw  her  once,  and  she  never  came  again." 

They  were  talking  about  me  and  those  babies !  The 
gardlens  de  la  paix  were  seeking  evidence  against  the  man 
and  woman  lodged  in  the  jail. 

Then  a  quieter  voice  said,  "  We  can  do  nothing,  Madame, 
unless  we  find  this  young  girl.  You  say  that  you  only 
knew  she  brought  you  the  children,  and  we  know  that  she 
returned  one  of  them  to  its  mother.  Now,  this  girl  must 
be  found!" 

I  raised  my  head  so  that  I  could  hear  better,  and  lis- 
tened closely. 

"  The  question  is,  Madame,"  went  on  the  same  voice, 


78  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  how  that  girl  got  into  those  rooms,  and  what  she  saw 
there.  Her  evidence  is  worth  much  to  the  state.  We  will 
pay  you  well  if  you  can  put  us  on  her  trail." 

I  could  make  out  the  words  plainly.  I  knew  what  they 
wanted,  and  my  eyes  brimmed  full  as  I  thought  of  Zadie's 
stanch  loyalty.  How  I  love  her  —  more  than  any  woman 
living ! 

"  I  have  told  you  a  hundred  times,"  she  persisted  in 
slangy  French,  "  that  I  know  nothing  of  the  creature, 
and  do  not  want  to.  She  landed  in  my  room  with  two 
brats,  one  so  hurt  and  whining  that  it  tore  my  heart  to 
look  at  him.  She  left  me  that  one  and  made  off  with  the 
other.  I  haven't  seen  her  since."  And  then  she  added  very 
loudly,  that  I  might  hear,  "  And  I  hope  to  God  that  I  will 
never  see  the  likes  of  her  again !  " 

Zadie  said  it  as  if  she  had  meant  it  —  but  she  didn't. 
God  love  her!  Dear  God,  bless  her  every  day! 

"  The  man  taken  from  here  has  lost  his  sight,  and  would 
not  know  her  if  we  could  produce  her,"  the  sergeant  con- 
tinued. "  The  woman  in  jail  swears  that  she  never  saw 
her.  The  young  mother  has  gone  away,  and  the  brother- 
in-law  has  been  arrested  upon  your  complaint.  But  that 
does  not  carry  much  weight  without  a  witness.  We  can't 
do  anything  without  the  girl." 

I  thrust  the  end  of  the  pillow  into  my  mouth  —  I  was 
safe !  I  couldn't  have  faced  another  difficulty ;  for,  ever 
since  coming  to  Paris,  nothing  but  trouble  had  been  my 
portion. 

Casperone  was  in  jail,  then,  until  he  could  prove  himself 
innocent.  Zadie  had  saved  me  from  the  hated  witness 
stand.  There  I  should  be  obliged  to  tell  my  own  name, 
and  the  American  papers  would  copy  it.  I  sat  up  in  bed, 
bending  nearer  the  door.  In  the  corridor  another  man 
spoke  with  a  rising  inflection  in  his  voice. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Madame,"  said  he,  "  but  I  am  going  to 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  79 

serve  you  with  a  subpoena;  for  you,  at  any  rate,  must  tell 
all  you  know." 

There  came  the  rustling  of  paper,  and  Captain  Zadie 
uttered  an  oath. 

"  I'll  be  there,"  she  replied  slowly,  "  and  I'll  teU  what 
I  know;  but  it  won't  be  much,  and  I  shall  still  have  the 
story  that  I  know  nothing  of  the  girl  and  but  little  of  how 
she  came  by  the  children." 

I  could  scarcely  contain  myself  until  the  men  were  gone. 
I  slipped  into  Zadie's  room,  and  found  her  poring  over 
the  document  written  in  French. 

"  These  damn  writing  ees  like  a  hen  scratch,"  she 
grumbled.  "  I  soon  as  follow  a  chicken  in  the  mud  as 
read  these  scroll !  Mon  Dieu!  it  make  my  head  ache !  " 

Not  a  word  of  complaint  about  the  disagreeable  affair 
into  which  I  had  dragged  her!  Her  broad  face  turned 
toward  me  as  I  placed  my  hand  upon  her  arm,  and  spoke 
of  it. 

"  You  need  not  care,  ma  cherw,  you  need  not !  I  haf 
no  fear.  I  ees  only  Captain  Zadie,  and  if  I  wish  —  I  say 
nothing." 

Then  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  kissed  her.  A  swift 
glance  of  tenderness  and  gratified  surprise  lit  up  the  un- 
couth face. 

"  You  are  the  best  woman  in  all  the  world ! "  I  said  sol- 
emnly. "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  why  I  need  your  aid  so 
badly.  You  remember  I  told  you  of  the  man  in  America 
and  that  as  soon  as  my  voice  was  trained  and  my  education 
in  Paris  completed,  I  should  return  home?  " 

"  Out,  oui,  oui!  " 

"  Well,  if  he  knew  !     Oh,  if  he  knew  about  me  I  " 

"  You  mean  about  the  babies  ?  " 

"  No,  not  that !  He  would  be  glad  they  were  saved. 
I  mean  about  my  life  here  in  Paris.  I  could  never  look 
him  in  the  face  again." 


80 

"  Of  course  not,  of  course  not,"  interjected  Zadie. 

"  Then  you  understand,  don't  you?  "  Here  I  stopped; 
for  my  selfishness  appalled  me.  "  Zadie,"  I  exclaimed,  "  I 
can't  let  you  go  to  the  court.  I  won't  let  you  bear  the 
whole  burden.  I  will  take  my  share.  I'll  go  now  and 
declare  myself  the  girl  who  found  those  children:" 

"  Pourquoi?  " 

"  Because  I  won't  be  a  coward  even  for  the  love  of 
one  man  —  I  won't !  I'll  go  now,  Dear,  if  you  will  go  with 
me." 

"  You  not  do  anything  like  that,"  replied  Zadie.  "  You 
stay  here  until  eet  ees  ofer.  The  brother  won't  tell  your 
name  —  it's  zee  galleys  for  him.  The  one  man  ees 
blind," —  I  shuddered  at  this, — "  and  the  Frenchwoman  not 
know  you!  C'est  bien!  Eet's  gude."  Zadie  lifted  her 
head  and  smiled  as  she  added,  "  They  not  make  me  tell 
things  when  I  know  nothing,  can  they,  ma  petite?  " 

"  No,"  I  said  doubtfully.  "  No ;  but  it  does  seem  so 
terrible." 

"  Bah !  you  let  me  mek  it  all  right.  You  be  glad  the 
babies  ees  safe,  and  you  not  in  the  scrape ;  that  you  got 
me  to  keep  you  out  of  these  things." 

I  was  more  thankful  than  I  could  tell.  I  rested  limply 
in  the  armchair,  happy  that  Zadie  had  a  soul  as  big  as 
the  world  —  and  that  she  had  shielded  me.  The  more  I 
ponder  upon  her  action,  the  more  I  love  her.  I  am  hap- 
pier, too,  when  I  think  that  one  day,  if  I  am  able  to  help 
her,  she  shall  cease  to  ply  her  hateful  trade.  I  think,  just 
then,  as  I  searched  her  face,  I  regretted  losing  my  money 
even  more  than  ever  before. 

"  Zadie,"  I  questioned  after  awhile,  "  you  know  the  man 
who  took  the  baby  from  its  home?  " 

"  You  mean  Larodi  ?  " 

"  Yes.  His  mother  is  one  of  the  women  to  whom  I 
brought  a  letter  when  I  first  came  here;  and,  Zadie,  if  he 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  81 

has  asked  me  once  to  be  his  wife,  he  has  asked  me  twenty 
times.  I  wonder  how  he  could  be  so  wicked?  " 

She  didn't  answer. 

"  Do  you  think  there  are  many  creatures  in  the  world 
such  as  he?  I  wonder  where  he  ever  heard  of  that  place 
upstairs?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  grunted  Zadie.  "  Eet  ees  hard  to  say, 
when  there  ees  so  many  devils  going  about." 

"  Do  you  really  have  to  go  to  the  court,  Zadie  ?  "  I  asked 
in  a  miserable  tone.  She  nodded  an  assent.  "  Then  you 
will  see  the  Count.  It  makes  me  ill  when  I  think  that  if 
circumstances  had  been  different  I  might  have  married 
him." 

"  But  you  deedn't,"  replied  philosophical  Zadie. 

"  No,  and  if  he  goes  away, —  I  mean  if  they  put  him  in 
prison, —  I  sha'n't  have  to  worry  about  him." 

"  They  won't,  unless  they  haf  you  to  tell  on  him." 

"  They  will  never  find  me,"  I  responded,  shaking  my 
head.  "  I  have  no  wish  to  send  him  to  prison  or  anywhere 
else." 

"  Then  lie  low  —  comme  chat  noir  —  like  cats  in  Eng- 
leesh,  eh  ?  —  and  when  eet  ees  of  er  he  won't  bother  you." 

Oh,  how  I  dread  to  have  Zadie  go  to  the  court !  It 
seems  a  wilful  shirking  of  responsibility  on  my  part. 
Yet,  if  I  went  openly,  it  would  not  help  her  and  would 
make  bad  worse;  for  my  life  on  Boulevard  St.  Michel  is 
like  a  haunting  specter  already. 

•  •••••••4 

This  morning,  anxious  and  frightened,  I  watched  Zadie 
as  she  made  preparations  to  go  to  the  trial.  I  felt  that  she 
would  never  return,  and  that  I  was  to  blame  for  some  great 
misfortune  that  had  overtaken  her.  But  she  betrayed 
neither  fear  nor  emotion,  nor  did  she  chide  me  in  the  least. 
The  house  was  as  silent  as  death  when  I  took  coffee  with 
her  in  her  room. 


82  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

She  was  no  sooner  gone  than  I  was  possessed  with  a 
keen  desire  to  follow  her  and  witness  Casperone's  degrada- 
tion. The  thought  impelled  me  to  dress  with  feverish 
haste,  and,  although  commonsense  bade  me  stay  quietly  at 
home,  some  uncontrollable  impulse  forced  my  lagging  foot- 
steps in  the  direction  of  the  court. 

Entering  the  room,  I  slipped  quietly  into  a  seat  and 
waited.  Near  the  front,  Zadie,  passively  indifferent,  sat 
slouched  in  her  chair.  Casperone,  accompanied  by  two 
men,  entered  directly  after  me  by  a  door  at  the  back ;  but 
before  I  could  turn  away  he  had  recognized  me.  The 
glance  was  momentary,  and,  although  his  eyes  flashed  with 
resentment,  he  quickly  passed  on.  Zadie  saw  me,  too ;  but 
the  heavy  face  betrayed  no  sign.  I  could  imagine  her 
thoughts  as  though  she  had  cried  them  aloud. 

"  You  silly  leetle  American  fool,  vhat  for  you  here  ?  " 

Then  I  heard  a  door  open  and  close,  and  knew  by  the 
shuffling  of  feet  that  it  was  Abbott.  I  dared  not  turn, 
fearing  to  see  the  ravages  made  by  the  acid.  My  reluctant 
gaze  followed  his  bent  figure  when  he  had  passed.  One 
red  hand  was  resting  on  the  woman's  arm,  and  the  other 
hung  limply  at  his  side. 

When  the  proceedings  began,  I  breathed  more  freely; 
but  I  could  not  suppress  my  tears  as  the  prosecutor  ques- 
tioned Zadie. 

"  Your  name?  "  he  demanded. 

"Zadie  Mullinaire." 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard  Zadie's  famfty  name. 

"  And  you  live  in  the  house  where  the  children  were 
found?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  your  business  ?  " 

Zadie  hesitated  a  moment,  and  the  blood  rushed  into  her 
cheeks  during  the  curt  answer,  "  Cocotte." 

"  Did  you  see  the  girl  who  rescued  the  infants?  " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  83 

"  Yes." 

"  Have  you  seen  her  since?  " 

"  No." 

"Do  you  know  any  of  the  prisoners?  Have  you  ever 
seen  any  of  them?  " 

Zadie  solemnly  scrutinized  the  criminals  and  quietly  an- 
swered, "  No." 

Just  then  I  heard  a  commotion.  Lady  Jane  took  a  seat, 
and  for  one  instant  a  gleam  of  recognition  flashed  into  her 
eyes  as  they  rested  upon  Casperone.  Then  my  two  ene- 
mies in  Paris  knew  each  other! 

Still,  I  have  no  fear  of  Lady  Jane  Grey.  Our  lives 
are  as  far  apart  as  the  antipodes ;  for  I  am  begging  on  the 
boulevards  for  a  brief  time  only.  America  is  my  home ! 

Zadie  swore  that  she  knew  nothing  more  than  she  had 
already  told,  and  was  dismissed.  The  forcible  evidence 
against  the  man  and  woman  carried  conviction,  and  they 
were  heavily  sentenced.  For  some  unknown  reason  the 
woman  took  an  oath  that  she  had  never  seen  Count  Larodi. 
He  walked  free  from  the  place  with  his  head  erect,  flashing 
a  glance  at  me  as  he  went. 

Zadie  said  afterward  that  she  supposed  the  woman  hoped 
to  get  help  from  the  Count  for  herself  and  husband. 

"  Wasn't  it  awful  in  the  courtroom,  Dear?  "  I  asked 
this,  caressing  Violetta,  when  Zadie  and  I  were  drinking 
our  coffee. 

"  Out,  and  I  lied  deux  fois!  " 

"  You  lied  twice !     When  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  I  say  I  deed  not  know  you,  and  had  never  seen  the 
Count  before.  I  haf  seen  him  go  to  Jeanne's  room  many 
times." 

"  Oh,  then  possibly  he  found  that  place  upstairs  through 
her." 

"  Possiblement"  muttered  Zadie  darkly,  and  we  lapsed 
into  silence. 


CHAPTER  X 

ON  the  third  floor  back  a  woman  has  moved  in.  Her 
name  is  Carlotta.  She  makes  me  shiver  every  time 
I  pass  her,  and  I  find  that  she  affects  Zadie  in  the 
same  way.  Her  dress  sags  in  the  back,  and  her  skin  is 
shrunken  and  seamed  with  fine  wrinkles.  Her  bulging  ox- 
like  eyes  seem  as  though  they  must  fall  out  on  her  cheeks. 
She  has  a  furtive  way  of  glancing  about  that  makes  them 
look  larger  and  darker  —  more  terrible  than  the  eyes  of  a 
monster  driven  along  by  his  enemies.  I  notice  that  at 
night  she  keeps  in  the  shadows  as  I  do.  I  pass  her  often ; 
but  dare  not  speak.  She  has  a  young  daughter,  too, 
who  is  so  very  beautiful  that  I  should  like  to  talk  to  her. 
I  wonder  if  she  isn't  a  little  afraid  of  her  own  mother? 
But  Carlotta  must  be  good ;  for  she  sent  the  girl  away  to 
school  as  long  as  she  could  get  money  to  pay  for  her  tuition 
—  the  patisserie  woman  told  Zadie  this. 

•  *•••••• 

Yesterday  just  at  sunset  I  talked  to  Carlotta's  daugh- 
ter. She  is  only  fifteen.  I  met  her  on  the  stairs,  and  she 
smiled  a  greeting  which  I  returned. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  she  said,  and  smiled  again. 

"  You  speak  English !  "  I  cried.  She  looked  the  essence 
of  everything  French. 

"  Yes,  I  was  at  school  in  England." 

"  Oh !     Didn't  you  love  it  over  there  ?  " 

"  I  like  Paris  best."  An  expression  of  sadness  moistened 
her  eyes  as  she  spoke.  "  My  mother  is  here,"  she  ex- 
plained tenderly. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  85 

How  sweet  her  voice  was  when  she  spoke  of  her  mother, 
—  that  large-eyed,  withered  looking  woman ! 

"  We  live  up  there,  my  mother  and  I,"  she  continued, 
with  an  upward  toss  of  her  head. 

Then,  girl-like,  we  looked  each  other  from  top  to  toe, 
and  last  of  all  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"  I  know  you  do,"  I  answered.  "  I  have  seen  you  often 
going  for  milk  and  to  the  patisserie  for  cake." 

"  Yes,  my  mother  allows  me  all  the  cake  I  wish.  She  is 
such  a  good  mother !  " 

Again  there  came  the  same  sad  expression,  and  before  I 
could  answer  she  exclaimed  indignantly: 

"  People  say  that  my  mother  is  a  wicked  woman  and 
that  she  does  wrong  things ;  but  I  know  they  lie  about 
her.  I  watch  her  every  day ;  but  she  doesn't  know  it. 
She  does  nothing  but  sleep  all  the  day  and  all  the  night. 
I  heard  the  patisserie  woman  say  it  was  a  shame  for  a 
woman  like  my  mother  to  have  such  a  nice  child  as  I. 
I'd  like  to  know  if  it's  Mother's  fault  that  she's  ill  and 
has  to  sleep  so  much,  that  her  eyes  are  different  from  other 
women's,  and  that  she  hasn't  money  for  clothes!  She 
doesn't  steal,  and  she  doesn't  drink  —  and  how  else  could 
she  be  wicked?  " 

The  color  came  and  went  under  the  lovely  skin,  and  the 
delicate  fingers  clenched  in  excitement.  She  paused  for 
breath,  and  for  lack  of  something  to  say  I  kept  my  lips 
closed. 

"  She's  the  best  woman  in  all  the  world,"  she  asserted 
vehemently.  "  And  I  wouldn't  go  and  leave  her  again 
for  anything.  I've  been  away  from  her  too  long  as  it  is, 
and  I  won't  go  again,  although  I  loved  my  school.  I  hate 
people  who  talk  so  about  my  poor  little  mother  1 " 

"  I'd  hate  them,  too,"  I  said  slowly. 

"  I  do !  When  I  think  what  she's  done  for  me,  I  won't 
let  anyone  tell  me  she  isn't  good  and  that  I  oughtn't  to 


86  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

be  with  her.  My  father  has  never  taken  care  of  her  and 
me,  and  she's  worked  dreadfully  hard  until  a  year  ago. 
Then  somebody,  an  aunt,  I  think,  left  her  a  little  money ; 
so  now  she  can  sleep  and  doesn't  need  to  sew."  She  thrust 
up  a  slender  hand  and  wiped  away  two  scalding  tears. 
"  Sewing  is  what  injured  her  eyes.  She  needs  a  lot  of  rest, 
she's  so  thin  and  pale.  But  she  couldn't  do  wrong  things 
when  she  is  so  good  and  with  me  all  the  time." 

"  No,"  I  replied  bravely,  "  and  she  doesn't,  I'm  sure." 

"  Oh,  thank  you.  I  do  like  you  for  saying  that !  I 
am  going  to  work  as  soon  as  I  can  get  it,  and  I  shall  take 
my  mother  to  the  country.  You  see,  I've  been  home  only 
a  little  while  —  I  didn't  know  about  her." 

These  last  words  she  said  in  French,  and  we  were  both 
startled  by  a  husky  voice: 

"  You  didn't  know  what,  Rosalie  mlgnonne?  ** 

"  That  you  were  ill,  ma  mere.  I  have  been  a  wicked 
girl  to  stay  away  from  you  so  long." 

The  ox-eyes  turned  upon  me  with  a  savage  glare,  and  I 
shrank  from  a  gaze  that  seemed  to  freeze  me. 

"  Speak  not  with  strangers,  my  little  child,"  said  the 
woman,  and  Rosalie  answered: 

"  She's  such  a  nice  girl,  Mother,  and  I'm  so  lonely ! " 

"  Come  with  me ! "  ordered  the  mother,  and  I  left  them 
ascending  the  stairs  together,  their  arms  about  each  other's 
waists  and  the  bright  brown  eyes  of  the  girl  bent  upon  the 
hollow,  emaciated  face  of  the  cocotte. 

A  few  hours  later,  just  before  I  went  out,  I  heard  a 
knock  at  my  door.  Thinking  it  was  Zadie,  I  called: 

"  Entrez!  " 

Slowly  the  door  pushed  open,  and  Carlotta  appeared  in 
the  aperture.  I  stared  at  the  white,  drawn  cheeks,  the 
thin,  blue,  quivering  lips,  the  haunting  eyes  reddened  by 
weeping,  and  the  whole  wretchedness  of  her. 

"  You  didn't  tell  her  — "  she  began  in  French. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  87 

The  words  came  haltingly,  as  if  something  had  numbed 
her  vocal  cords.  At  first  I  didn't  understand. 

"  You  didn't  tell  the  mignonne  that  I  went  out  nights  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head,  and  she  went  on. 

"  She  mustn't  know  —  she's  too  gqod.  I  feared  you'd 
told  her  when  I  saw  you  talking  this  afternoon,  and  she 
thinks  I  sleep  at  home  the  night  through.  She's  gone  to 
bed  now,  my  Rosalie,  and  I  always  go  with  her.  I  slip 
out  afterward  and  leave  her  alone;  but  I'm  back  before 
she  wakes.  My  baby,  my  baby!  Mon  Dieu!  how  I  love 
her!" 

Through  the  protruding  eyes,  I  saw  for  one  moment 
the  soul  beyond.  Fear,  passionate  love,  despair,  and  ill- 
ness passed  before  me.  I  moved  forward  involuntarily  and 
placed  my  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"  I'll  never  tell  her,"  I  said ;  "  but  the  patisserie  woman 
has  hinted  to  her  that  you  are  wrong  in  some  way.  Don't 
send  her  there  any  more." 

Rage  mottled  the  woman's  faded  cheek.  "  Cochon  — 
chamois  — " 

"  Stop ! "  I  ordered.  "  Don't  curse  like  that !  Are  you 
going  to  keep  her  here  in  this  house?  " 

"  I  must :  I  haven't  the  money  to  send  her  away.  Any- 
how, she  wouldn't  go  from  me.  You  are  young,  Made- 
moiselle, to  be  on  the  boulevards."  Carlotta  turned 
squarely  upon  me. 

"  I'm  almost  eighteen,"  I  said  with  a  choke. 

The  girl  sleeping  in  the  bed  upstairs  was  but  a  little 
younger  than  I.  Awhile  ago,  the  same  as  with  her,  Boule- 
vard St.  Michel  and  its  nights  were  unknown  to  me.  Again 
I  put  my  hand  upon  Carlotta's  arm. 

"  Send  her  away,"  I  urged.  "  Send  her  away !  If  I 
had  a  mother  to  care  for  me,  I  shouldn't  be  here!  " 

I  sat  down  and  wept,  feeling  such  an  old,  old  woman 
in  experience;  homesick  and  suffering  and  my  whole  mis'- 


88  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

ery    enhanced    by    the    wretched    spectacle    of    Rosalie's 
mother. 

"  Pauvre  enfant,  poor  baby !  "  exclaimed  Carlotta.  "  A 
woman's  life!  What  is  it?  It's  like  —  a  brute's!" 

"  No,  no,  don't  say  that ! "  I  gasped ;  for,  with  the 
words,  my  own  future  seemed  to  stretch  over  and  over  the 
windings  of  Boulevard  St.  Michel  into  a  distant  time  that 
would  bring  me  to  withered  cheeks  and  bulging  eyes. 

"  I'll  get  money  tonight,"  she  went  on,  not  heeding  my 
appeal.  "  Ma  mignonne  shall  go  back  to  school  before 
she  finds  out  about  me ! " 

With  that  she  turned  and  went  out,  leaving  me  more 
disturbed  and  ill  at  ease  than  I  had  been  for  many  a  long 
day.  Some  feeling  restrained  me  from  telling  Zadie  about 
the  girl  and  her  mother.  It  would  have  been  a  breach  of 
the  small  faith  they  had  in  me. 

I  followed  Carlotta  into  the  street  and  zigzagged  my 
way  toward  St.  Germain,  faint-hearted  and  afraid.  I  en- 
vied the  pretty  schoolgirl  with  the  cocotte  mother.  I 
wanted  a  mother,  too,  who  would  shield  me  from  — 

"  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau!  "  gasped  I,  at  the  instant  I 
ran  into  a  man  who  seemed  to  be  in  a  hurry.  He  pushed 
me  aside  roughly,  and  I  stood  staring  after  him  until  he 
was  lost  in  the  crowd. 

A  stairway,  dark  and  forbidding,  yawned  before  me. 
I  sank  into  it,  huddled  in  the  corner,  sobbing  until  I  feared 
attracting  passers-by.  The  strange  thing  was  that  tears 
wouldn't  come  to  my  burning  eyes.  But  I  had  to  work: 
nothing  else  would  bring  me  my  daily  bread. 

I  crawled  out  into  the  lighted  boulevard,  turning  back 
toward  the  Pantheon,  hoping  to  see  Zadie.  Near  the  tall 
building  where  the  sacred  bones  of  famous  men  repose,  a 
woman  stood  under  the  light.  She  was  looking  down  the 
street  and  evidently  watching  for  somebody.  I  ventured 
nearer,  and  saw  that  it  was  Carlotta,  her  dress  hanging  in 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  89 

rags  behind  her.  She  did  not  see  me.  Her  interest  was 
centered  in  a  man  coming  toward  her.  The  frail  form 
straightened,  and  Carlotta  placed  her  hand  upon  the  lamp 
post  as  if  to  steady  herself. 

There  she  waited  until  the  man  came  opposite  her.  They 
looked  at  each  other  a  few  seconds,  neither  speaking. 

"  Is  she  with  you?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

"  Ouil " 

"  How  long  has  she  been  there  ?  " 

"  Six  days." 

"  You  have  dared  to  keep  her  six  days  in  that  place?  " 

"  Oui,  I  want  money  to  send  her  away.  That's  why  I 
sent  for  you." 

"  I  will  come  and  get  her,"  exclaimed  the  man.  His 
expression  hardened  in  determination  under  the  light  shin- 
ing full  upon  his  face. 

"  She  won't  go  with  you ! "  Her  voice  rose  higher  in 
the  exultation  of  assurance.  The  ragged  head  of  the  co- 
cotte  thrust  itself  forward  until  the  great,  faded  eyes  were 
staring  straight  into  his  handsome  face.  She  had  spoken 
so  rapidly  that  I  could  scarcely  catch  her  meaning. 

Carlotta's  assertion  aroused  the  man  to  action.  He 
raised  his  hand  and  brought  it  down  violently  upon  the 
upturned  face.  The  woman  sank  under  the  blow  for  an 
instant ;  but  she  straightened  herself  and  wailed. 

"  I  said  she  wouldn't  go  with  you !  She's  mine  f  She's 
mine ! " 

"  She's  mine,  too,  and  I'll  not  let  my  daughter  remain 
in  that  sink !  " 

"  You  have  never  cared  to  take  her  before." 

"  Because  you  kept  her  at  school.  The  law  will  give 
her  to  me.  You  hear  ?  I  will  take  her  away ! " 

Farther  and  farther  into  the  shadows  I  crept.  The 
frightened  woman  turned  so  quickly  that  the  rags  of  her 
dress  flapped  against  the  lamp  post,  and  as  she  passed  me  a 


90  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

ray  of  light  swept  across  her  face,  showing  the  marks  left 
by  the  blow.  She  rushed  away  toward  Boulevard  St. 
Michel  before  the  man  could  stop  her.  He  stood  looking 
after  her  until  she  was  out  of  sight,  then  turned  into  the 
narrow  street  behind  the  Pantheon,  and  I  saw  him  no  more. 
I  did  not  mention  what  had  passed  to  Zadie ;  for  I  am 
growing  experienced  in  my  little  world. 

•  ••••••• 

It  must  have  been  very  early  this  morning,  perhaps  ten 
o'clock,  when  I  heard  a  noise  at  my  door.  I  sprang  out 
of  bed  and  opened  it. 

The  girl,  Rosalie,  white  and  trembling,  stood  there. 
"  Please !  Let  me  come  in,  quick !  They've  come  to  take 
me  away  from  my  mother !  " 

I  remembered  what  I  had  overheard  in  the  shadow  of  the 
Pantheon,  and  quickly  drew  her  into  the  room,  closing  the 
door  and  bolting  it. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  I  gasped  weakly. 

"  Some  agents  have  come  with  a  man  who  says  he  is 
my  father.  I  want  to  hide  in  here  until  they've  gone.  I 
won't  go ! " 

Hardly  had  the  words  been  whispered  when  there  came 
a  great  knocking  at  the  door.  Placing  my  fingers  on  my 
lips,  I  pointed  to  the  open  space  under  the  bed.  Rosalie 
wriggled  out  of  sight.  In  a  sleepy  voice,  I  asked  what 
was  wanted. 

"  Ouvrezf  "  was  the  command. 

"  Pourquoi?  " 

I  slipped  out  of  the  duvet  under  which  I  had  again 
crawled,  opened  the  door,  and  peeped  out.  Two  sergeants 
de  ville  were  standing  with  the  man  I  had  seen  strike  Car- 
lotta,  and  from  behind  them  Carlotta  herself  peered  at 
me,  her  sad  eyes  fixed  entreatingly  on  mine. 

"  Is  the  girl  here  in  this  room  ?  "  asked  the  father. 

"  What   girl? "    I   demanded,   throwing   the   mother   a 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  91 

glance  of  assurance.  "  There  is  no  girl  here  besides  my- 
self." 

My  denial  did  not  hinder  them  from  entering  and  plying 
me  with  questions.  During  this  catechism  one  of  the  of- 
ficers opened  my  wardrobe  and  ran  his  hands  about  among 
my  gowns.  The  other  passed  into  my  sitting-room.  Re- 
turning from  an  unsuccessful  search,  his  eye  caught  sight 
of  Rosalie  under  my  bed.  Walking  to  it,  he  drew  it  from 
the  wall  and  forcibly  lifted  the  girl  to  her  feet.  Her  face 
was  scarlet. 

"  Vasche  —  miserable  vasche!  "  cried  the  father,  taking 
the  girl  by  the  arm,  and  turning  upon  me.  "  You  women 
are  all  alike  —  liars  —  thieves  —  and  worse !  " 

"  I  want  to  stay  with  my  mother !  "  wailed  Rosalie.  "  I 
love  her  —  she  is  a  good  mother !  " 

"  She's  a  bad  mother,"  answered  the  man.  "  I'm  your 
father.  I  take  you  because  the  law  gives  me  the  right. 
Your  mother  is — " 

"  No,  no  !  "  gasped  Carlotta.  "  Take  her ;  but  don't  say 
that!  Don't  — don't!" 

"  Don't  say  what  ?  "  cried  the  girl.  "  I  will  know  !  Am 
I  a  baby  that  I  can't  hear  the  secrets  of  my  father  and 
mother?  I  will  know!" 

It  was  then  that  I  realized  what  the  world  and  the  law 
gave  to  the  man.  The  mother  who  had  taken  care  of  and 
shielded  her  child  since  birth,  who  had  given  the  girl  her 
life,  was  forced  to  part  from  her  in  the  hour  of  great 
need. 

Bewildered  by  the  frantic  cries  of  Carlotta  and  the 
boisterous  commands  of  her  father  that  she  should  go 
with  him,  Rosalie  was  led  away  with  but  one  pitiful  em- 
brace from  her  mother. 

Carlotta  stayed  with  me,  whimpering  and  sobbing,  until 
Zadie  came  in  and  brought  us  coffee. 


92 

I  haven't  written  for  a  long  time.  I  hate  men  —  no, 
I  don't  hate  Roger;  but,  then,  he  is  a  good  man.  I  won- 
der if  there  are  a  lot  of  good  women?  I  don't  suppose 
there  are  many  without  money.  I  have  begun  to  believe 
that  money  is  the  greatest  protector  of  virtue  in  the  world ; 
that  if  a  woman  with  money  isn't  good,  she  must  be  bad 
to  the  very  core. 

Yesterday  when  we  were  having  breakfast,  Zadie  said, 
«  She  ees  ver9  ill." 

"Who?"  I  asked. 

"  Carlotta,  up  there,  Rosalie's  mother." 

I  remembered  then  that  I  had  not  seen  Carlotta  for  some 
idays. 

"  I  take  up  soup,"  said  Zadie.     "  Come !  " 

Awestricken  and  afraid,  I  followed  her  up  the  winding 
stairs  to  the  third  floor.  We  walked  in  without  knocking. 

There  was  scarcely  anything  in  the  room  save  a  rickety 
table,  a  chair,  a  broom,  and  the  bed  on  which  the  sick 
woman  was  stretched.  She  opened  her  eyes  when  Zadie 
and  I  entered;  but  closed  them  instantly,  and  I  marveled 
at  the  white  lids  with  their  thin,  discolored  veins,  straining 
to  cover  the  rolling  eyes.  Only  two  glassy  slits  were  left 
uncovered  under  the  dark  lashes.  The  foul  odor  of  the 
room  sickened  me,  and  I  turned  toward  the  window. 

"  She  ees  to  have  air,"  Zadie  said  softly,  noticing  my; 
movement ;  then  added  in  French,  "  She'll  die  like  this !  " 

This  aroused  the  woman  out  of  her  stupor,  and  she  lifted 
her  head  slightly.  "  No,  no,  I  won't  die !  I  won't !  I'm 
cold,  that's  all." 

The  scene  impressed  me  so  deeply  that  every  word  she 
uttered  was  written  indelibly  upon  my  memory. 

"  Take  this  soup,"  ordered  Zadie.  "  Have  you  had  a 
priest?" 

The  woman  shook  her  head.  "  Priests  are  not  for  our 
sort,"  she  replied,  gulping  down  the  liquid.  "  I'm  not 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  93 

going  to   die  —  I'm  like  this   often.     I'm   cold,   too.     I 
want  to  see  my  baby !  "     She  lapsed  into  a  stupor  again. 

Zadie  went  close  to  the  bed  and  felt  of  the  scanty  cover- 
ing. "  You  haf  two  blankets,"  she  said  to  me.  "  Will 
you  gif  her  that  boat  rug  you  haf,  that  blue  one?  " 

"  Of  course ! "  I  cried,  and  straightway  ran  to  get  it. 

When  we  came  back  from  our  night's  work,  we  went  to 
Carlotta's  room.  With  flashing,  feverish  eyes,  she  was 
curled  up  under  my  warm  blue  blanket,  gibbering  in  de- 
lirium. 

>•••«••  •  j 

I  think  constantly,  as  I  write,  of  the  sick  woman  in  the 
room  above.  I  have  tried  to  help  her  all  I  could.  She 
is  getting  better,  although  she  will  never  be  quite  well. 
She  has  tuberculosis,  Zadie  says,  and  can't  afford  even 
the  little  delicacies  to  ease  her  suffering. 

After  all,  money  seems  the  only  savior  in  the  world. 
If  Carlotta  had  had  money,  she  would  have  kept  her  child. 
If  I  had  money,  I  shouldn't  be  here.  Money  would  allow 
Zadie  to  carry  out  the  instincts  of  her  human  soul.  I 
could  go  through  the  whole  world  and  prove  that  the  lack 
of  money  causes  sin  and  death  everywhere ;  for,  no  matter 
what  our  aims  in  life  may  be,  no  matter  what  our  prin- 
ciples are,  the  main  thing  is  just  to  live,  the  one,  all-ab- 
sorbing instinct  in  human  nature.  Lack  bread,  and  prin- 
ciples vanish! 


CHAPTER  XI 

BUT  of  all  the  money  I  begged  I  haven't  a  sou  left. 
Captain  Zadie  calls  me  a  "  brick  " ;  but  I  call  my- 
self a  fool.     Burning  candles  for  money, —  for  my 
career,  and  for  Roger, —  then  giving  it  deliberately  away,, 
permits  me  to  call  myself  whatever  I  wish. 

It  is  such  a  chilly  afternoon,  and  the  thought  of  home  — 
of  him  —  makes  me  shiver !  Zadie  says  that  the  Americans 
are  a  cold-blooded  race.  Perhaps  they  are;  but,  if  so,  I 
love  them,  all  the  same. 

I  had  been  to  see  Marquise  again  about  lessons;  for  I 
had  saved  just  enough  money  to  begin  on,  and  when  I 
had  counted  it  out  I  had  never  been  quite  so  happy  in  all 
my  life.  In  former  days  this  sum  had  been  a  trifle.  Now 
it  stretched  back  into  long  weeks  of  misery  and  degrada- 
tion ;  it  illuminated  every  day  in  the  future  until  the  hour 
I  should  see  America.  I  have  written  to  the  man  not  to 
bring  the  piano.  The  hour  for  my  lesson  is  passed,  and 
I  am  sitting  in  these  two  cold  rooms  overlooking  the  front 
yard  of  this  house.  A  slight  wind  is  stirring  the  dead 
plants  in  the  wooden  framework  near  the  fence.  The  sun 
is  forcing  a  lancelike  gleam  through  the  upper  part  of  the 
window.  I  can  hardly  bring  myself  to  record  my  foolish- 
ness ;  but  I  want  to  remember  the  emotions  that  prompted 
me  to  the  act. 

That  night  Boulevard  St.  Michel  was  cold,  and  a  driz- 
zling rain  prevented  me  from  staying  too  much  in  the  open 
street.  I  seldom  plied  my  Donnez  mol  un  cadeau  in  the 
lighted  cafes ;  but  Cafe  D'Harcourt  enticed  me  in. 

94 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  95 

Slowly  opening  the  door,  I  encountered  many  eyes  di- 
rected toward  me.  On  taking  a  seat  near  the  wall,  the 
waiter  asked  my  desire.  I  said : 

"  Vichy,  s'tt  vous  plait." 

A  smile  curled  under  the  ga^on's  slight  mustache;  but 
he  went  to  fill  my  order,  and  for  many  minutes  I  kept  my 
eyes  down.  Near  one  o'clock  the  cafe  filled  with  a  rowdy 
gang,  gathered  to  sing  midnight  songs. 

At  one  table  a  sweet-faced  girl  sat  sharing  the  chairs 
of  two  of  her  countrymen,  a  cigarette  giving  out  little 
circles  of  blue  smoke  from  between  her  curved  lips.  Once 
in  awhile  the  man  at  her  right  took  several  puffs  directly 
after  her,  smiling  into  her  eyes  and  delicately  closing  his 
mouth,  as  if  to  impart  some  mysterious  secret.  The  six 
men  at  the  same  table  listened  with  laughing  faces  to  the 
stream  of  French  that  slipped  from  her  tongue.  To  my 
left,  almost  at  my  elbow,  sat  a  long-haired  individual,  his 
red  locks  savoring  of  brilliantine  and  bleach.  His  appear- 
ance, and  the  wild,  rapid  way  that  he  wrote  on  a  pad,  made 
me  think  him  a  poet.  He  must  have  been  jotting  down 
a  sonnet,  or  possibly  some  verses  he  had  just  conceived. 
His  strange  expression  bespoke  insanity ;  but,  then,  I  have 
heard  that  all  geniuses  are  half  mad. 

When  a  loitering  fellow  would  ask  to  sit  beside  me,  I 
would  say  in  English: 

"  I  do  not  speak  French." 

And  generally  he  would  shrug  his  shoulders  and  move 
on;  for  there  were  too  many  women  in  the  Boulevard  St. 
Michel  haunts  to  bother  with  one  who  couldn't  understand. 
So,  hour  after  hour  passed,  and  still  I  didn't  have  the  cour- 
age to  go  into  the  rain. 

Once  or  twice  Zadie  walked  through  the  cafe  and  smiled. 
Lady  Jane  also  looked  in  at  the  door,  her  long  blue  rain- 
cloak  showing  off  the  black  of  her  eyes  and  the  auburn 


96  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

touch  in  her  hair.     She,  too,  saw  me,  and  a  sarcastic  look 
swept  over  her  face. 

Three  people  had  taken  an  empty  table  at  my  right,-— 
a  Frenchman  with  a  countrywoman,  and  a  girl  about 
twelve. 

The  poet  scribbled  on  my  left.  I  was  weary  with  looking 
at  his  red  head;  so  I  turned  my  attention  to  the  new  ar- 
rivals. The  girl's  small  face  was  beautiful,  but  tired  look- 
ing. Excessive  weeping  had  reddened  her  lovely  eyes,  and 
creased  the  delicate  skin.  She  was  sitting  between  the  man 
and  woman,  who  were  talking  in  low,  rapid  French.  The 
girl  didn't  seem  to  understand;  for  she  paid  no  attention 
to  the  conversation,  her  abstracted  expression  seeming  to 
indicate  that  her  mind  had  left  the  Cafe  D'Harcourt  and 
was  far  away.  I  wondered  where.  She  didn't  look  like  a 
French  girl.  I  surmised  that  she  was  either  from  Eng- 
land or  from  America.  Then  my  deduction  proved  to  be 
correct;  for  the  man  bent  over  the  pretty  head  and  said 
in  English: 

"  Smile,  pig,  if  you  want  to  sleep  tonight ! " 

A  wan,  tired,  rather  sly  smile  broke  over  the  pitiful, 
babyish  mouth.  "  I  was  thinking  of  America,  Carlos,"  she 
said. 

If  I  had  stepped  on  an  electric  wire  I  could  not  have 
been  more  startled,  and  the  thought  shot  into  mind  that 
the  girl  was  being  detained  against  her  will.  My  invol- 
untary ejaculation  disturbed  the  man  and  woman;  but  I 
pretended  that  something  had  happened  to  my  shoe,  and 
when  the  fellow  spoke  again  I  raised  my  head  to  listen. 

"  Think  no  more  of  that  country,  Mademoiselle  Nan,'* 
he  said,  "  or  I  lash  you  with  stout  whips.  You  stay  here 
in  gay  Paris  and  get  much  money." 

"  I  don't  want  money  —  I  want  to  —  go  home ! " 

The  man  thrust  his  hand  under  the  table,  and  with  his 
thumb  and  forefinger  nipped  the  girl's  tender  flesh  near 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  97 

the  knee,  twisting  and  turning  it  until  the  child,  without 
opening  her  lips,  sank  back  dead-white  on  the  plush  cush- 
ion. 

I  was  the  only  one  save  the  red-haired  poet  who  had  seen 
the  act.  He  smiled  evilly  —  the  sight  had  given  him  new 
inspiration.  Once  more  he  began  to  write  rapidly.  The 
child  smothered  the  moans  that  would  rise  again  and  again, 
and  for  several  minutes  pressed  her  palms  against  her  lips. 
Suddenly  the  Frenchman  rose  with  a  bland  smile  to  greet 
a  newcomer.  The  girl  glanced  up  shudderingly.  Her 
flowerlike  face  had  lost  none  of  its  pallor:  rather  had  the 
deathly  hue  increased,  as  she  took  in  the  appearance  of  the 
man. 

"  Monsieur,  Monsieur !  "  cried  Carlos.  "  We  feared  you 
were  not  coming." 

The  man  whom  Carlos  addressed  was  blear-eyed  with 
age,  and  his  hand  trembled  as  it  rested  on  his  stick. 

"  Is  this  the  girl  you  were  telling  me  about  ?  "  he  asked, 
looking  at  the  child. 

"  Yes.     Is  she  not  beautiful?  " 

'*  Mais  oui;  but  pale  and  trfo  jeune  —  very,  very; 
young." 

"  No,  no ;  she  is  only  frightened.  If  I  believe  my  eyes, 
Monsieur  will  soon  cure  the  jade  of  that." 

"  Oui,  oui,  oui,  leave  that  to  me !  Is  she  ready  to  go 
now?  " 

"  If  Monsieur  has  the  money  with  him." 

"  Plenty  of  that,"  was  the  reply.  "  Can  you  make  the 
girl  understand  that  she  is  to  go  with  me?  " 

Little  Nan  sat  up  straighter  when  Carlos  said,  "  This 
gentleman  is  going  to  take  you  to  his  home." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  with  him !    I  had  rather  stay  here ! " 

"  With  me  ?  "  asked  Carlos  incredulously. 

"Yes  — yes!     Please!" 

"  If  you  do  not  go  with  him,"  threatened  Carlos,  "  I 


98  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

shall  —  kill  you  —  in  the  worst  way  I  know!  Don't  I 
always  keep  my  word,  Nan?  " 

She  nodded  an  answer,  saying,  "  But  I  am  afraid  —  so 
afraid!" 

"  It  was  stupid  to  arrange  a  meeting  in  a  public  place 
like  this,"  objected  the  purchaser.  "  Tell  her  I  will  give 
her  bonbons  —  liqueur  chocolates  —  what  she  likes." 

"  He  will  give  you  bonbons,"  wheedled  Carlos. 

"  I  don't  want  anything  like  that.  I  want  to  go  home 
to  America."  She  began  to  whimper  and  to  speak  rap- 
idly in  English  to  the  woman.  "  I  want  to  stay  tonight 
with  you,  Nicole,"  she  pleaded.  "  If  you  will  only  help 
me  to  get  back  to  America  to  my  father  and  mother! 
They  will  send  you  the  money  when  they  can.  Oh,  I  want 
to  die  or  go  home  to  my  mother ! " 

She  raised  her  last  words  to  a  shrill  cry,  and  both  men 
got  to  their  feet.  The  waiter  demanded  the  cause  of  the 
disturbance. 

"  She  is  wicked,"  Carlos  explained.  "  Her  mother, 
there,  can  do  nothing  with  her.  She  is  bad ! " 

"  Whip  the  pig,  then ! "  growled  the  waiter.  "  It's 
easy  to  train  her  with  a  strap." 

Hysterical  little  cries  for  aid  came  from  the  girl's  lips. 
The  scene  had  attracted  the  entire  cafe.  Men  and  women, 
from  idle  curiosity,  pressed  forward  to  watch. 

The  man,  sinking  his  villainous  fingers  deep  into  the 
tender  arms,  tried  to  push  Nan  through  the  crowd  toward 
the  door.  He  twisted  the  small  girl  completely  round, 
and  her  eyes,  wide  with  fright,  looked  directly  into  mine. 
I  smiled  a  broad,  encouraging  smile,  and  rose  to  my  feet 
also. 

"  Stop ! "  I  cried  impulsively.  "  How  dare  you  treat 
—  my  sister  so  ?  Poor  little  sister,  poor  little  Nan !  I 
have  found  you  at  last ! " 

I  pushed  through  the  crowd  and  placed  my  hands  on  the 


99 

fingers  of  the  man,  who  only  clung  tighter  to  his  posses- 
sion. The  bright  mind  of  the  child  opened  to  my  scheme 
almost  before  I  reasoned  it  out  myself. 

I  leaned  over  and  whispered  hurriedly  in  her  ear.  "  My 
name  is  Christobel  McCall.  Don't  forget ! " 

"  Oh,  my  sister,  I  want  to  go  with  my  sister !  "  she  cried. 

Help  had  come  to  her,  and  with  renewed  courage  she 
wrenched  herself  away.  The  English  was  being  rapidly 
translated  to  those  who  did  not  understand.  The  interest 
deepened ;  for  this  man  was  talking  to  the  crowd  in  French. 
Some  were  satisfied  that  he  spoke  the  truth,  others  anx- 
ious to  hear  more.  By  this  time  I  had  my  arm  about  the 
frightened  girl. 

"  You  shall  go  with  me  to  America,  Dear,  to  our  father," 
I  assured  her.  "  Don't  cry,  precious,  pretty  little  sister !  " 

The  head  waiter  came  up  to  us  after  a  heated  talk  with 
the  Frenchman,  and  looked  questioningly  at  little  Nan  a 
moment,  and  then  asked  her,  "  What  is  your  sister's  name, 
little  girl?  " 

"  Christobel,"  screamed  Nan. 

Eying  me  knowingly,  with  an  impudent  smile,  he  de- 
manded, "  Let  me  see  your  license,  Mademoiselle.  You 
see  I  know  you." 

I  drew  the  paper  Zadie  had  obtained  for  me  from  my 
purse,  and  he  read  aloud : 

"  Christobel  McCall,"  and  he  looked  doubtfully  at  Car- 
los. 

Nan  clasped  my  fingers  more  tightly.  "  I'm  not  their 
child,"  she  cried.  "  This  is  my  sister !  I  will  go  with  her ! 
I  will!  I  will!" 

"  I  demand  that  you  return  me  "that  girl !  "  ordered  Car- 
los slowly,  his  brow  lowering.  "  I  shall  have  the  officers 
after  you." 

I  dragged  the  child  to  the  red  plush  seat,  and  mounted 
it,  not  forgetting  to  pull  her  up  beside  me.  With  my 


100  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

arm  still  about  her,  I  cried  out  over  the  heads  of  the 
crowd : 

"  This  is  my  sister,  and  if  you  molest  her  or  me  I  shall 
report  it  tomorrow  to  our  American  consul.  I  demand 
that  we  be  allowed  to  go  free !  Say  something !  "  I  begged 
in  a  lower  tone.  "  Say  that  you  want  to  go  with  me !  " 

The  high,  sweet  voice  raised  in  a  plea.  "  She  is  my  sis- 
ter !  That  man  and  woman  are  not  my  father  and  mother ; 
for  I  don't  know  one  word  of  their  language." 

A  man,  speaking  in  English,  inquired,  "  How  came  you 
with  these  people,  then?  " 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  mine  with  subtle  meaning.  "  I 
came  here  to  find  my  sister,  and  they  took  me." 

"  And  I  have  been  searching  for  you,  Darling,  ever 
since  I  knew  you  had  left  home,"  I  took  up  abruptly. 
"  So,  you  see,"  I  added  to  the  crowd,  "  if  we  are  not  al- 
lowed to  leave  here,  something  will  happen  to  this  cafe." 

"  Let  'em  go ! "  shouted  a  coarse  voice  in  English,  and 
another  in  French  took  up  the  cry.  The  mass  of  people 
parted,  and  with  Nan's  hand  in  mine  we  marched  out  into 
the  rain. 

She  slept  with  me  that  night,  and  we  did  not  awaken 
until  late  next  day.  I  didn't  tell  her  where  she  was.  I 
explained  that  I  was  a  student  —  which  was  true ;  for  can 
any  girl  ever  learn  more  of  the  lessons  of  life  and  despair 
than  have  I? 

She  told  me  that  Nicole  and  Carlos  had  brought  her 
from  America  by  force.  Nicole  advertised  for  help. 
Little  Nan  had  answered.  When  next  she  remembered, 
she  was  aboard  ship  bound  for  France. 

After  dejeuner  I  counted  out  my  money  grimly,  and, 
taking  the  girl  by  the  hand,  started  for  the  boulevard.  I 
looked  down  into  the  pretty  face,  and  found  her  eyes  ques- 
tioningly  upon  me. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  101 

"  I  wish  you  were  my  sister !  I  haven't  any,"  she  said, 
and  then  she  suddenly  asked,  "  Where  are  we  going?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  send  you  back  to  America  to  your 
mother." 

I  began  to  run,  fearing  that  I  might  change  my  mind, 
nor  did  I  stop  until  I  had  placed  Nan  and  the  money  into 
the  hands  of  the  steamship  agent. 

She  kissed  me,  and  whispered,  "  My  father  and  mother 
are  poor.  We  will  send  back  the  money  —  sometime ! " 

I  kissed  her  with  filling  throat  and,  giving  her  my  own 
name  and  my  banker's  address,  left  her  —  and  by  now  she 
is  journeying  to  her  father  and  mother. 

Boulevard  St.  Michel  is  worse  than  ever !  I  skulk  along 
the  side  streets  in  the  shadows  of  the  buildings  to  save 
myself  from  being  stared  at.  Then,  when  I  see  an  unob- 
servant man,  one  who  is  not  looking  about  for  someone,  I 
pounce  upon  him  with  a  rapid  "  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau," 
and  many  times  I  go  away  with  a  sou. 

What  a  lot  I  have  learned!  Never  to  ask  anything  of 
a  man  alert  and  searching;  for  he  always  places  caressing 
fingers  on  my  arm  and  says,  "  Ma  petite  cherie." 

When  this  happens,  I  simply  say  haughtily,  *'  I  do  not 
understand  you,"  and  go  on. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHEN  I  told  Zadie  what  I  had  done  with  my 
money,  she  was  so  silent  that  I  feared  she  would 
burst  out  with  a  reproach,  and  tell  me  that  I 
had  been  "  a  leetle  American  fool." 

"  I  had  to  give  her  the  money,"  I  sobbed.  "  Her  peo- 
ple are  awfully  poor.  I  simply  had  to  —  she  was  such  a 
baby!" 

Zadie  folded  me  tenderly  in  her  arms.  "  Poor  petite, 
you  ees  a  brick !  Poor  little  dear  1 "  Zadie  whispered  over 
and  over. 

She  seemed  to  be  thinking  deeply  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
I  was  too  tired  to  talk.  Little  Nan  had  exhausted  my  re- 
sources, and  all  I  could  see  was  endless  nights  stretching 
before  me  in  sordid,  dreary  succession  in  the  lighted  boule- 
vards. 

"  Cherie,  would  ma  petite  like  to  go  to  the  country  with 
me,  to  visit  ma  mere?  "  Zadie  asked  me  abruptly. 

"  What  ?  "  I  demanded,  thinking  I  had  not  properly  un- 
derstood her  mixture  of  French  and  English. 

"  You  see,"  she  explained,  "  I  have  been  safing  to  go  to 
my  home.  Next  week  is  ma  mere's  birthday.  I  always  go 
then." 

"  But  I  haven't  any  money,  Zadie,"  I  answered  drearily. 
"  I  can't  let  you  pay  my  expenses." 

"  Silly  leetle  bebe,  ees  you  going  to  quarrel  weez  Zadie 
ofer  a  few  francs,  when  you  haf  just  give  your  money 
to  the  wee  girl?  If  you  not  come,  I  ees  disappointed. 
You  come,  eh?  " 

102 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  103 

"Oh,  Zadie!"  I  cried,  and  while  I  hesitated  to  find 
words  of  gratitude  she  continued : 

"  Eet  ees  not  beautiful  as  summer ;  but  the  air  ees 
fresh,  and  eet  will  be  bonne  for  you,  and  we  will  — "  She 
waited  so  long  that  I  grasped  her  hand  and  added  a 
thought  of  my  own. 

"  We  will  forget  just  what  we  are,"  I  cried  joyously. 

"  Oui,  oui,  oui,  that  day  we  will  be  milliners.  Ma  mere 
thinks  I  make  hats.  You  will  luf  her."  Her  voice  was 
tremulous  with  tenderness. 

"  When  are  we  going,  Zadie  ? "  In  my  delight,  I 
caught  up  Violetta  and  squeezed  the  little  dog  until  she 
yelped.  "  Oh,  won't  it  be  lovely  to  forget  Paris  ?  I  want 
to  be  where  the  grass  grows." 

"  Eet  ees  winter,"  Zadie  put  in ;  "  but  there  ees  fine 


air - 
a 


And  the  absence  of  smells,"  I  supplemented. 

"  Oui,  Deary,  oui,  and  to  forget  for  one  whole  day  I " 

"  Oh,  Zadie,  I  can  think  of  nothing  so  heavenly  as  to 
go  to  the  country.  I  shall  enjoy  even  the  ride  in  the  train. 
Where  does  your  mother  live?  " 

"  She  lifs  weez  my  sister  near  Epernon.  I  will  write 
that  we  will  come  next  Wednesday.  I  write  now." 

And  write  she  did  there  and  then,  bending  industriously 
over  the  table,  and  punctuating  every  word  with  laborious 
grunts. 

So  the  letter  has  been  sent,  and  I  am  to  go  on  Wednes- 
day with  Zadie  to  Epernon.  What  bliss ! 

I  wonder  if  it  is  possible  for  one  to  forget  Paris  for  a 
whole  day? 

.«•••••• 

Lady  Jane  Grey  and  Zadie  have  gone  to  bed.  Against 
the  light  streak  of  day  broadening  behind  the  Pantheon,  I 
can  see  little  birds  darting  in  and  out  of  the  crevices  in  the 
tower;  but  I  can't  sleep  until  I  have  written  the  account 


104  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

of  the  happiest  days  I've  had  since  I  have  been  in  Paris. 

Zadie  and  I  got  up  very  early  in  the  morning,  and  went 
to  the  station  in  a  bus.  Zadie  bought  the  tickets.  We 
made  a  little  compact  not  to  speak  once  of  St.  Michel. 
We  were  just  two  milliners  from  the  great  city  of  Paris, 
going  on  a  country  excursion.  I  wished  that  one  of  my 
hats  could  have  been  used  for  Zadie,  because  she  didn't 
look  very  much  like  a  maker  of  hats  in  the  one  she  wore. 
It  was  in  the  style  of  two  years  ago,  much  too  small  for 
the  large  face,  and  the  color  didn't  blend  nicely  with  her 
red  hair.  Zadie  explained  this  by  telling  me  that  every 
year  she  dyed  her  hair  a  different  shade  with  peroxid  and 
henna,  and  the  year  that  the  hat  was  bought  the  dye  hap- 
pened to  be  light.  However,  I  did  improve  it  a  little  by 
putting  a  bit  of  brown  silk  under  the  rim,  so  as  to  sepa- 
rate the  green  from  the  vivid,  dark  red  pin-curls.  I  should 
have  lent  her  one  of  my  own  hats,  had  they  not  all  been 
too  youthful  for  her. 

From  station  to  station,  to  keep  us  from  talking  about 
forbidden  subjects,  we  joked  about  our  hat  making.  Zadie 
boasted  of  our  fictitious  orders  until  a  quiet  little  woman 
who  sat  in  the  corner  must  have  thought  we  were  prosper- 
ous milliners  at  least.  But  I  could  not  help  noticing  that 
she  kept  gazing  at  Zadie's  hat  with  a  puzzled  expression  in 
her  eyes. 

We  began  to  count  the  stations,  and  Zadie's  dear  face 
beamed  with  happiness  as  the  miles  grew  less.  It  was 
really  nice  to  be  milliners  and  not  —  cocottes. 

Epernon  at  last, —  with  old,  old  houses  spreading  over 
a  little  hill,  broken  here  and  there  by  spires  of  ancient 
churches  and  the  whitewashed  walls  of  convents!  We 
quickly  stepped  out  on  the  platform,  and  Zadie  rushed 
forward. 

'*  There  ees  Balandrot !  He  ees  my  sister's  husband. 
And  there  ees  their  donkey,  Fifi ! " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  105 

I  had  never  heard  Zadie  rattle  on  so  in  my  life ;  but  the 
same  happy  spirit  possessed  me.  I  fell  in  love  with  Fifi 
and  Fifi's  master  instantly.  Balandrot  was  leaning  out 
of  the  back  of  the  small  donkey  cart,  his  long  legs  touching 
the  ground.  His  face  was  almost  covered  with  dark,  shin- 
ing hair.  A  peasant  shirt  of  indigo  blue  fell  to  his  knees, 
while  a  pair  of  steady  black  eyes  watched  every  person 
alighting  from  the  train.  He  didn't  notice  us  at  first; 
but  smiled  at  Zadie  as  he  saw  her  running  toward  him, 
and,  still  holding  the  reins,  stepped  to  the  ground. 

"  The  mother  feared  you  might  not  come,"  he  said  in 
patois.  "  She's  been  sitting  in  the  window  since  the  ris- 
ing of  the  sun." 

Zadie  coughed,  but  didn't  answer,  and  I  noticed  the 
nervous  movement  with  which  she  stepped  into  the  don- 
key cart  after  me.  We  rolled  up  a  narrow  street,  Fifi 
making  a  horrible  snorting  noise  which  sounded  more  like 
the  weird  screech  of  a  bird  than  the  heehaw  of  a  donkey. 

From  the  houses  and  small  shops,  tousled-headed  chil- 
dren tumbled  out  at  the  sound  of  the  braying,  and  little 
girls,  carrying  tots  almost  as  big  as  themselves,  shouted 
after  us.  Onward  through  the  town  we  went  at  a  good 
pace,  until  Fifi  slowed  up  when  the  cart  turned  into  a  nar- 
row, uneven  track  at  the  edge  of  a  forest.  Long  before 
we  reached  it,  I  heard  the  murmur  of  a  stream  swollen  by 
rain.  I  had  almost  forgotten  how  country  trees  looked, 
and  how  the  grass,  which  here  was  not  entirely  dead,  lifted 
each  blade  separate  and  apart.  The  little  birds  swept 
across  the  sky  in  black  swarms.  I  had  forgotten  about 
them,  too.  Although  France  is  so  different  from  Amer- 
ica, it  almost  seemed  that  the  elms  were  American  elms, 
and  that  if  we  went  far  enough  the  white  road  would  lead 
us  to  Boston ;  but  Zadie's  gabbling  to  her  brother-in-law 
in  French  and  the  loud  heehawing  of  the  donkey  evidenced 
Epernon,  and  not  a  New  England  highway.  I  was  con- 


106  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

tent  to  sit  silently  and  drink  in  the  sweet  pure  air  of  the 
country. 

"  Balandrot  lives  far  out,"  said  Zadie  to  me  in  English. 

I  think  she  wanted  to  awe  the  big  peasant  by  speaking 
in  another  language  than  his  own.  He  dropped  his  jaw, 
and  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  Zadie,  with  a  satisfied 
grunt,  unpinned  her  hat,  and  rode  the  rest  of  the  way  bare- 
headed. 

"  I  luf  to  feel  the  wind  on  my  face,"  she  continued  in 
my  tongue,  lifting  her  chin  to  meet  the  keen  air,  and  giv- 
ing a  sidelong  glance  at  Balandrot.  He  was  making  Fifi 
bray  by  scraping  at  her  tail  with  his  whipstock. 

"Mademoiselle  is  an  American?"  he  asked  presently, 
looking  at  me. 

I  nodded  my  head  in  answer  to  his  question.  Balandrot 
had  a  good  face,  one  that  a  woman  could  trust. 

"  She  makes  hats  with  me,"  Zadie  explained.  "  She  put 
this  bit  of  brown  under  there." 

There  was  a  touch  of  pride  in  her  voice,  and  I  made  up 
my  mind  that  I  would  soon  manufacture  her  a  really 
pretty  hat  from  some  of  the  rumpled  finery  at  the  bottom 
of  my  trunk,  and  that  it  should  blend  better  with  the  red 
hair  than  the  one  she  so  proudly  displayed. 

Balandrot  looked  his  appreciation  of  my  efforts,  and, 
scanning  the  sky,  remarked,  "  The  birds  fly  low,  then  high. 
It  is  going  to  rain.  Is  Mademoiselle  afraid  of  a  storm?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied ;  "  not  if  I  am  with  you  and  Zadie." 

We  were  soon  climbing  a  little  hill  on  top  of  which  were 
several  cement-walled  houses,  whose  sloping  roofs  were 
overgrown  with  ivy. 

"  That  is  ours,"  ejaculated  Balandrot,  pointing  his  whip 
toward  a  tiny  homestead  shining  white  in  the  sun. 

Zadie  wildly  waved  her  hand.     "  See !     My  mother !  " 

I  looked,  and  saw  huddled  in  the  window  a  tiny,  shriv- 
eled form,  a  wrinkled  face  out  of  which  shone  two  black 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  107 

eyes.  A  white  cap  with  lacy  ruffles  almost  covered  the 
gray  hair.  A  small,  brown  hand  shook  back  a  welcome 
to  Zadie,  and  two  sunken  lips,  like  blue  lines,  drew  back  in 
a  smile  over  toothless  gums.  She  was  still  in  the  window- 
seat  when  we  entered  the  room,  joy  broadening  the  smile 
on  the  withered  old  face. 

"Ah,  little  mother!"  cried  Zadie.  "See,  I  have 
brought  you  another  milliner,  a  friend  of  mine.  Come  to 
me,  my  love !  " 

The  tiny  mite  in  the  window  raised  two  shriveled  arms, 
and  Zadie  gathered  her  paralyzed  mother  to  her  breast. 
Then  she  sat  down  in  a  chair  near  the  stove. 

"  She  wouldn't  let  us  move  her  away  from  the  window," 
Balandrot's  wife  said,  "  not  for  a  minute  since  early  this 
morning.  I  know  she  is  frozen." 

"  The  mother  is  cold?  "  asked  Zadie,  fondling  her. 

"  No,  I  was  waiting  for  you,  my  baby." 

One  old  hand  was  smoothing  the  straggling  locks  that 
hung  over  Zadie's  mottled  face,  while  with  the  other  la 
petite  mere  patted  her  daughter's  shoulder. 

"  My  bebe,  my  bebe!  "  she  repeated. 

That  Zadie  was  her  baby  seemed  ridiculous.  I  felt  a 
queer  sensation  in  my  throat. 

"  She  can't  walk  now,"  explained  Zadie's  sister ;  "  so  she 
stays  a  great  deal  in  bed,  and  we  put  hot  bricks  about  her 
this  cold  weather.  We  let  her  sit  up  a  bit  in  the  after- 
noon ;  but  she  simply  wouldn't  stay  in  bed  when  she  heard 
you  were  coming." 

"  I  like  hot  bricks,"  burst  from  the  lisping  blue  lips. 

"  The  little  mother  shall  have  all  she  wants,"  smiled  Za- 
die. 

The  two  shining  eyes  turned  upon  me.  I  was  bending 
over  a  basin  of  water  under  the  looking-glass. 

"  Is  that  the  girl  who  lives  with  you,  Zadie  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Zadie. 


108  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  She's  pretty,  too.  She  looks  like  I  did  when  I  was 
young." 

"  She  always  theenks  that  everybody  who  ees  here  looks 
like  she  deed,"  Zadie  explained  to  me,  and  then  she  added 
in  French,  "  Little  mother,  Zadie  has  brought  you  some 
sweets." 

I  love  the  French  peasants!  Now  I  understand  where 
Zadie  got  her  big,  simple  nature,  and  human  understand- 
ing. 

Gabrielle,  Balandrot's  wife,  prepared  a  nice  dejeuner, 
and  we  sat  down  happily  together. 

There  was  a  small,  shy  girl,  little  Gabrielle,  who  came 
to  breakfast  with  the  news  that  farther  out  in  the  country 
there  was  going  to  be  a  dance  that  night.  Zadie  gave  the 
child  a  kiss,  and  looked  at  me  over  her  head.  I  had  the 
same  thought  in  my  mind. 

"  Would  you  like  to  stay,  Pheelis  ?  "  she  asked,  and  then 
turned  to  her  brother-in-law.  "  Balandrot,  won't  you  and 
Gabrielle  take  us  over?  " 

"  And  leave  me  with  Granny?  "  pouted  the  child. 

"  But  with  lots  of  sweeties,"  whispered  Zadie  in  her  ear. 

"  And  there  are  Granny's  bricks  to  be  kept  hot,"  cried 
the  mother. 

"  And  the  doll  baby  to  be  looked  after,"  inserted  Balan- 
drot, placing  a  slice  of  brown  bread  on  the  child's  plate. 

The  cloud  lifted  from  the  little  one's  face,  and  after 
breakfast  we  went  together,  the  little  girl  and  I,  to  see  the 
chickens.  I  forgot  as  I  raced  in  the  long  road,  scattering 
the  meal  for  the  poultry,  and  tumbling  the  dogs  and  the 
half-grown  pups,  that  I  had  ever  seen  Boulevard  St. 
Michel. 

Then  came  the  dance.  We  left  a  huge  log  to  smolder 
on  the  hearth,  when  Granny  and  the  little  Gabrielle  went 
to  bed.  Zadie  had  given  each  a  bag  of  sweets  which  she 
had  saved  for  the  purpose.  I  heard  the  petite  mere  suck- 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  109 

ing  loudly  on  a  piece  of  her  taffy,  running  it  slowly  over 
her  uneven  gums,  while  little  Gabrielle  munched  the  hard 
bonbon  with  her  strong  young  teeth. 

Balandrot  brought  out  the  braying  Fifi,  and  we  started 
merrily,  the  wind  blowing  strongly  through  the  naked 
trees  that  bordered  the  stream.  I  had  never  thought  the 
sky  so  beautiful  before,  possibly  because  in  the  boulevards 
of  Paris  one  is  not  thinking  of  it,  and  rarely  looks  upward. 

As  we  jogged  along,  the  brother-in-law  told  Zadie  a  lot 
of  the  neighborhood  gossip, —  how  that  Mere  Fragnard 
was  dead,  and  Monsieur  le  Cure  had  been  ill  with  la  grippe ; 
how  that  pretty  daughter  of  Bastien  Durand  had  come 
back  from  Paris  with  a  dot,  and  had  married  her  sweet- 
heart. 

"  Ah !  Paris  is  the  place  to  make  money,  without 
doubt !  "  and  Balandrot  nodded  his  head  sagely. 

The  dance  was  in  an  old  farmhouse  with  broken  win- 
dows. Tallow  candles  gave  the  only  illumination.  A 
dear,  old,  long-haired  man  scraped  music  from  his  fiddle. 
I've  been  to  lots  of  dances  in  America ;  but  none  like  that, 
—  none  half  so  delightful.  There  were  a  number  of  blue- 
shirted  peasants,  and  they  looked  quite  handsome  in  their 
holiday  clothes. 

It  was  fun  to  watch  them  dance.  I  write  "  watch  them  " 
as  if  I  hadn't  danced  too;  but  I  did.  And  a  nice  boy  said 
pretty  things  in  guttural  patois  in  a  low,  nasal  tone.  He 
stood  first  on  one  foot,  then,  on  the  other,  and  smiled  with 
friendly  dark  eyes  into  mine.  One  horny  hand  fussed 
embarrassedly  with  the  tail  of  his  blue  shirt,  and  ran 
along  the  edge  of  it,  drawing  it  close  about  him  as  he 
talked.  With  his  other  hand  he  plucked  timidly  at  the 
sleeve  of  my  blouse.  The  old  windy  house  was  cold ;  so  I 
gladly  accepted  his  offer  to  dance,  and  it  made  the  blood 
in  my  veins  tingle  sharply.  He  tramped  on  my  feet,  and 
my  half -frozen  toes  sang  with  pain ;  but  I  was  too  happy 


110  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

to  care.  I  was  a  milliner  —  in  truth  1  Hadn't  I  sewed 
the  bit  of  brown  in  the  rim  of  Zadie's  hat? 

I  chattered  away  to  him  brokenly  in  his  tongue,  and 
smiled  at  the  hot  flush  that  rose  to  his  temples  in  his  ef- 
fort to  understand  me;  but  when  he  replied  in  a  flood  of 
French  I  had  to  implore  him  to  speak  more  slowly. 

Zadie  stood  talking  to  Balandrot  in  one  corner  away 
from  the  holes  in  the  window ;  while  Gabrielle  was  held  close 
by  a  smiling  peasant  who  swung  the  little  woman  round  in 
the  intricate  figures  of  a  country  dance,  her  wooden  shoes 
clattering  loudly  in  her  brave  attempt  to  keep  up  with  him. 

"What's  Mademoiselle's  name?"  my  swain  asked  pres- 
ently. 

"Phyllis,"  I  answered.     "What's  yours?" 

He  reddened  as  I  threw  the  question  back.  "  Pierre  — 
that's  not  so  pretty  as  Phyllis.  I  think  you  are  the  nicest 
girl  I  ever  met.  I  didn't  know  that  Americans  were  like 
you.  I  thought  they  always  had  big  teeth  and  funny  hair." 

We  stopped  for  an  instant  near  the  north  window 
through  which  the  wind  came  in  chilly  gusts.  Fifi's  voice 
rasped  from  the  donkey-shed,  and  it  seemed  as  if  a  friend 
were  calling  to  me  from  the  darkness. 

Before  Pierre  could  further  express  his  admiration,  a 
big  peasant  swung  me  from  my  feet  and  swept  me  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room.  The  dance  went  on  again,  and  I 
smiled  at  Zadie  and  Balandrot,  huddled  in  the  corner. 

"  Ees  you  happy,  leetle  Pheelis  ?  "  Zadie  threw  at  me, 
and  I  had  time  to  reply: 

"  Happier  than  I  have  ever  been  before." 

I've  wondered  since  what  made  me  so  ridiculously  light- 
hearted  at  that  dance.  I  think,  perhaps,  because  I  loved 
to  be  with  good  people  who  had  homes,  and  babies,  and 
grandmothers  —  although  little  Gabrielle's  grandmother 
didn't  put  me  at  all  in  mind  of  my  own. 

"  Come  and  eat ! "  was  the  cry,  when  the  square  dance 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  111 

was  finished.  How  good  the  wine  and  black  bread  tasted 
after  the  violent  exercise! 

During  our  drive  home,  Zadie  smiled  grimly  at  my 
lightheartedness ;  but  she  only  said,  "  Child,  I  believe  you 
were  born  a  peasant,  and  a  companion  to  Fifi." 

Just  as  if  Fifi  thought  so,  too,  she  lifted  her  tail  in  the 
wind  and  gave  a  great,  rough  snort,  kicked  out  her  heels, 
and  galloped  down  the  hill.  This  caused  Gabrielle  almost 
to  tumble  from  the  cart,  and  Balandrot  laughed  sleepily 
as  he  drew  his  pretty  peasant  wife  under  his  arm.  Soon, 
above  the  rattle  of  the  wheels  and  the  roar  of  the  wind,  I 
heard  her  breathing  evenly  in  sleep,  while  her  husband 
yawned  audibly.  Even  Zadie's  head  drooped.  I  didn't 
want  to  sleep  —  I  was  afraid  I  should  wake  up  and  find 
myself  in  —  Paris. 


CHAPTER  XHI 

ZADIE  handed  me  a  theater  advertisement.  "  I  be- 
leef  they  take  you,"  said  she.  "  Of  course,  they 
take  you!  Look  at  your  figure,  and  you  get  ten 
francs  a  night.  That  ees  better  than  walking  the  boule- 
vard." 

"  I  wonder  what  they'd  ask  me  to  do?  "  I  replied,  after 
a  moment's  thought.  "A  theater  —  why,  I  know  noth- 
ing about  acting." 

"  They  not  ask  you  to  act,"  said  Zadie  rudely.  "  They 
not  need  actresses  in  the  ballet." 

"  What  do  they  need?  "  I  asked. 

"  Preety  shoulders,  a  sweet  girl,  a  leetle  American  girl, 
to  show  her  to  the  public  night  after  night  until  their 
money  box  ees  full.  That  ees  what  they  want.'* 

Zadie  laughed  grimly,  and  I  shivered  as  she  emitted  the 
sound.  It  was  more  like  the  rasp  of  a  file,  like  the  croak 
of  a  raven  after  the  fall  of  night.  Zadie  knows  more  of 
the  world  just  as  it  is  than  I  do. 

I  trembled  at  the  mention  of  the  theater ;  but  to  escape 
walking  the  dark  streets  meant  much  to  me  —  and  money 
was  coming  in  so  slowly!  I  had  had  a  taste  of  being 
without  warmth,  without  food.  I  couldn't  afford  to  throw 
away  a  chance  of  getting  legitimate  work. 

"  Get  up  early  and  apply  for  eet,"  advised  Zadie.  "  If 
you  succeed,  you  get  your  singing  back." 

The  idea  hovered  about  me  the  entire  night.  As  soon 
as  the  first  street  cries  began,  having  slept  only  four  hours, 
I  rose  and  dressed,  and,  placing  in  my  purse  the  address 
Zadie  had  given  me,  hurried  to  the  underground  railway. 

113 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  113 

After  a  few  stations  I  got  out,  and  at  last,  by  dint  of 
asking  questions,  found  myself  before  a  hallway  in  front 
of  which  stretched  a  line  of  girls  like  a  queue  outside  the 
pit  of  a  theater. 

I  took  my  place  in  the  chattering  bevy,  and  waited 
eagerly  for  the  opening  of  the  door.  Each  girl  was 
young  and  shapely,  and  my  heart  sank  a  little  as  I  con- 
trasted my  chances  with  theirs ;  but  I  assumed  a  determined 
air  that  I  was  far  from  feeling. 

Standing  there,  I  thought  of  the  robe  I  should  wear  on 
the  stage,  and  heard  the  imaginary  swish  of  silk  as  my 
long  train  swept  the  stage  floor.  My  imagination  por- 
trayed my  triumph  vividly.  Possibly,  after  a  long  time, 
I  could  learn  to  act. 

From  time  to  time  other  girls  joined  us.  After  a  wait 
of  several  hours,  the  door  opened  and  the  mass  of  girls 
rushed  in.  A  man  stopped  them  with  a  forbidding  French 
exclamation.  I  did  not  pause  at  his  order;  but  broke 
from  the  line  and  stood  panting  before  him. 

"  I  am  here,"  I  said  slowly,  in  English. 

"  I  see,"  he  replied  with  a  curious  smile  on  his  lips  that 
suggested  —  I  know  not  what.  "  Take  a  chair,"  he  con- 
tinued, and  obediently  I  dropped  into  the  seat. 

He  did  not  take  me  into  the  little  room  at  once;  but  I 
was  one  of  the  five  selected  by  him  to  wait  for  audience. 
The  rest  of  the  human  herd  was  turned  growlingly  away. 

I  sidled  into  the  private  room,  in  answer  to  a  call  from 
a  beckoning  finger,  and  a  large,  florid-complexioned  man 
looked  me  over  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Take  off  your  clothes,"  said  he. 

"What?" 

"  Take  off  your  clothes ! " 

"  She's  an  American  girl,"  put  in  the  man  I  had  ac- 
costed. 

"  Don't  care  if  she's  an  angel  from  Heaven.     She  can't 


114  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

pose  in  this  theater  without  our  knowing  what  kind  of 
figure  she's  got !  " 

I  went  home,  smarting  under  a  new  experience,  my  body 
tingling  from  its  recent  exposure.  They  had  accepted 
me,  and  that  night  I  was  to  pose  on  the  top  of  the  most 
famous  ballet  in  Paris. 

Zadie  listened  to  my  impassioned  tale. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  couldn't  go  !  "  I  groaned. 

"You  will,  though.  You  must!  Eet  will  get  you 
from  the  streets.  Eet  ees  the  way  to  your -studies,  you 
know." 

"  But  I  have  to  pose  with  so  little  clothing  on !  "  I  com- 
plained. "  I  don't  like  it." 

"  You  like  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau  better?  "  she  asked 
roughly. 

Her  words  stung  me.  "  No,  no ! "  said  I  bitterly. 
"  Even  that  theater  is  better  than  Boulevard  St.  Michel." 

My  legs  could  scarcely  carry  me  to  the  rehearsal  that 
afternoon ;  but  I  realized  that  it  was  the  lesser  of  two  evils 
that  lay  before  me. 

With  puckered  brow  I  watched  each  girl  do  her  part. 
Then  came  my  pose.  Cowering  in  my  scanty  drapery  of 
gauze  and  silver  tinsel,  I  was  hoisted  high  up  on  the  pul- 
leys at  the  back  of  the  stage,  rearing  my  arms  out  in  Del- 
sartian  angles  after  the  fashion  of  a  statue.  In  the  pit 
the  managers  whispered  their  endless  instructions  to  the 
conductor,  and  I  could  also  see  the  moving  bodies  of  the 
cleaners. 

"Raise  your  arms  higher!"  commanded  the  English- 
man. 

I  stretched  them  up  toward  the  gilded  ceiling. 

"  Now  turn  your  eyes  directly  toward  me.  There ! 
That's  your  pose !  Always  with  your  gaze  upon  the  front 
row.  Will  you  remember  that?" 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  115 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  slipping  to  the  stage,  where  I  stood 
in  my  bare  feet,  waiting  for  my  shoes  and  stockings. 

"  Go  now  and  get  something  to  eat,  and  come  back  at 
nine  o'clock.  You  are  not  wanted  until  the  final  act." 

I  recounted  my  afternoon's  doings  to  Zadie. 

"  They  told  you,  some  of  the  men,  that  you  ver* 
preety  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No ;  but  I  heard  the  Englishman  tell  the  Frenchman 
that  they  had  a  drawing  card  in  me." 

"  How  much  money  ?  "  demanded  Zadie. 

"  Ten  francs  a  night,"  I  said.  "  That's  two  dollars  in 
American  money." 

"  It  keeps  you  from  the  street,"  commented  Zadie. 

"  Yes,  and  that  means  something.  Let  me  see  — <-  two 
dollars.  I  ought  to  save  out  of  that,  oughtn't  I?  " 

"  Oui,  oui,  oui!     You  ees  careful." 

"  Then,  oh,  Zadie,  I  shall  be  able  to  study  with  Mar- 
quise, after  all." 

........  ^ 

I  stood  tremblingly  before  the  mirror  waiting  the  call 
to  come  and  perch  myself  above  the  bevy  of  ballet  girls. 

"  Your  eyes  on  the  front  row,"  the  manager  whispered 
to  me  as  I  went  upward  at  the  back,  "  and  your  arms  high 
and  fingers  extended." 

The  curtain  rolled  up  slowly.  At  first,  the  row  of  lights 
at  the  foot  of  the  stage  dazzled  me.  Never  shall  I  forget 
the  beating  of  my  heart,  nor  the  dizziness  that  made  my 
head  swim  round  and  round.  The  wall  of  dim  faces 
caught  my  eye  as  I  settled  my  gaze  upon  the  front  stalls 
and  forced  a  smile  to  my  lips.  Then,  slowly,  a  vision 
formed  itself  out  of  the  sea  of  heads  beneath  me.  One 
face,  darkly  handsome  and  wholly  American,  was  turned  up 
toward  mine.  Had  my  excited  imagination  created  a 
wraith  of  Roger  Everard?  His  hands  were  hanging  to 


116  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

the  sides  of  the  chair,  while  the  men  near  him  applauded 
tumultuously. 

"  La  petite  file!  "  surged  up  from  the  crowd ;  but  I  saw 
only  the  one  face,  the  face  of  which  I  had  dreamed,  wak- 
ing and  sleeping.  Was  I  rearing  the  vision  in  my  brain, 
or  was  it  Roger  Everard  in  flesh?  Sickened  and  ashamed, 
I  felt  my  body  tremble  and  shake  with  sudden  terror.  My 
flesh  froze,  and  the  muscles  in  my  arms  refused  to  do  their 
work. 

I  heard  the  manager  below  whisper  frantically,  "  Throw 
those  arms  farther  out ! "  but  I  had  no  power  to  obey 
him.  The  ghost  in  the  front  stall  kept  me  spellbound. 

Slowly  I  turned  my  eyes  to  the  man  on  his  right.  He 
sat  there  in  splendid  relief  against  the  row  of  cheering 
men,  and  I  traced  every  feature  on  his  face, —  strong- 
jawed  and  noble!  From  a  pair  of  brilliant  eyes  he  shot 
me  a  golden  gleam,  which  touched  my  soul  with  its  truth. 
Lower  and  lower  swung  my  arms,  until  my  half -naked  body 
succumbed  to  the  force  in  my  brain  and  I  tumbled  down,  a 
limp  mass  behind  the  scenes. 

My  eyes  opened  when  water  was  sprinkled  into  my  fa^ce. 
From  the  front  came  the  sharp  demand  for  the  reappear- 
ance of  "  La  petite  file." 

"  There,  there,  you're  all  right ! "  cried  the  manager. 
"  Come,  come,  climb !  Quicker,  quicker !  Throw  out  your 
arms  and  smile.  Blake,  hang  onto  her,  or  she'll  fall 
again." 

This  time  I  looked  off  into  the  dark  corners  of  the  the- 
ater, swaying  and  smiling,  with  freezing  body  and  tortured 
soul  —  for  ten  francs. 

I  went  no  more  to  the  theater.  My  refusal  to  go  puz- 
zled Zadie;  but  she  didn't  chide  me.  Afterward  I  went 
sneaking  like  a  wicked  night-bird  back  into  the  boulevards. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  117 

Zadie  and  I  have  had  many  discussions  lately  about 
morals  and  religion.  At  heart,  she  is  really  a  Catholic. 
I  like  to  hear  her  argue  religion  between  the  puffs  of  her 
cigarette.  She  says  that  papal  Rome  is  holding  to  the 
ancient  tradition  that  this  state  should  pay  the  expenses 
of  the  church,  while  France  demands  that  all  religious  in- 
stitutions should  be  independent  of  the  state.  The  two  — 
the  Mother  Church  who  has  nurtured  her  children  since 
the  infancy  of  modern  civilization,  and  the  rebellious 
daughter  clamoring  for  the  freedom  she  holds  so  dear  — 
have  come  to  fisticuffs.  Zadie  says  that  any  time  now  the 
soldiers  are  apt  to  be  ordered  out  to  suppress  dangerous 
riots. 

•>••••••* 

I  have  persuaded  myself  that  I  didn't  see  Roger  that 
night  in  the  theater.  I  am  sure  he's  in  America.  An- 
other proof  is  that  the  big  man  I  thought  was  with  him  had 
golden  eyes,  and  that's  not  natural.  I  must  have  been 
excited  and  overwrought. 

I  burned  a  candle  today  that  Roger  would  not  forget 
me,  and  another  that  soon  —  oh,  very  soon  !  —  I  shall  be 
able  to  leave  Boulevard  St.  Michel,  and  —  Donnez  moi  tin 
cadeau. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  soldiers  have  come  at  last  and  have  turned  the 
city  into  a  huge  barracks.  Today,  red  groups 
arranged  themselves  from  St.  Germain  to  Pont 
Neuf  watching  the  people  who  had  gathered  together  to 
discuss  the  orders  issued  by  the  court  of  France,  that  the 
church  taxes  should  be  paid  immediately  or  the  altar  trim- 
mings would  be  confiscated.  The  dignified  cuirassiers, 
with  fine  uniforms  and  their  bobbing  horse-tail  helmets, 
rode  up  and  down  the  boulevards.  They  clattered  back 
and  forth  over  the  bridges,  until  the  very  air  seemed  to  be 
filled  with  their  presence. 

This  afternoon  I  walked  toward  the  Pantheon  and  sat 
down  on  the  broad  steps  to  watch  the  fast  moving  crowds 
in  the  boulevard  below.  A  straggling  woman  here  and 
there  broke  away  and  skulked  into  the  shadows. 

Presently  I  went  back  to  St.  Michel  and  turned  toward 
the  river.  The  soldiers  spoke  to  me  as  I  passed,  some 
softly,  some  in  loud,  laughing  tones,  until  my  face  burned 
crimson.  One  man  placed  his  hand  affectionately  upon 
my  arm;  but  I  drew  aside  and  told  him  that  I  was  not 
French.  I  walked  away  with  his  laugh  echoing  behind  me. 

Nearing  the  Place  St.  Michel,  I  saw  rows  of  omnibuses 
awaiting  their  turns  to  roll  back  to  the  Odeon.  I  strug- 
gled past  the  soldiers  to  the  bridge ;  but  feared  to  mention 
to  any  my  need  of  money,  for  the  brows  of  most  of  them 
were  too  lowering.  The  silent  mobs,  too,  told  of  a  ter- 
rible undercurrent. 

At  Place  St.  Michel  the  thought  came  into  my  mind  that 
as  I  dared  not  beg  I  would  cross  the  bridge  and  go  into 

118 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  119 

the  Paris  I  had  known  in  better  days,  passing  just  once 
from  Boulevard  St.  Michel  into  the  brightness  of  English 
Paris.  So  I  turned  toward  the  Louvre,  crossed  the  bridge, 
and  walked  up  the  Avenue  de  1'Opera. 

A  multitude  of  people  pressed  through  the  boulevard. 
On  each  side  of  the  avenue  soldiers  lounged,  talking  and 
telling  stories.  Beautiful  women  smiled  upon  them;  but, 
receiving  no  encouragement,  passed  into  Des  Italiens  and 
the  Montmartre,  some  following  the  mob  to  Place  de  la 
Madeleine. 

Looming  against  the  bright  sky  was  the  historic  church, 
closed  and  silent.  Morbid  looking  priests  crept  from 
boulevard  to  boulevard,  receiving  the  jeers  of  the  ribald 
without  a  murmur.  In  their  eyes  dwelt  the  hidden  de- 
termination that  had  made  the  Church  of  Rome  the  most 
powerful  organization  on  earth.  I  neared  the  Madeleine 
and  waited.  Soldiers  guarded  the  front  and  side  gates ; 
although  many  loitered  about,  for  the  confiscating  order 
had  not  yet  been  put  into  execution.  Those  on  guard 
were  doing  their  duty  with  perfunctory  solemnity  that 
men  assume  when  they  don  their  nation's  garb  of  authority. 

Suddenly  a  great  crowd  came  running  from  the  Rue  des 
Capucines.  In  an  instant  every  conceivable  spot  in  the 
Place  de  la  Madeleine  was  filled  with  people.  They  were 
pushing  toward  the  church  with  jeers  of  laughter  and 
cries  of  "  Down  with  the  Church !  " 

The  church  was  ringed  in  by  the  scarlet  of  the  solemn 
soldiers  whose  faces  were  drawn  into  tense  lines  that  ran 
from  their  high  cheekbones  to  the  lower  angles  of  their 
jaws.  The  determined  brilliance  of  their  eyes  beneath  the 
cockade  hats  plainly  demonstrated  that  they,  at  any  rate, 
recognized  a  vested  power  mightier  than  that  of  the  clam- 
oring mob. 

Out  of  the  Rue  des  Capucines,  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  and 
the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  armies  of  soldiers  hastened  to 


120  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

the  scene  of  the  riot.  I  shrank  into  the  shelter  of  the 
building  on  the  corner,  and  watched  the  venting  of  fanati- 
cal human  passion.  It  required  no  great  deductive  power 
to  conclude  that  if  by  any  chance  a  priest  or  a  layman 
should  attempt  to  force  his  way  to  the  church  gates,  he 
would  be  spitted  upon  one  of  those  upraised  glittering 
bayonets. 

I  noted  that  a  young  priest,  with  flowing  black  robes 
and  bared  head,  stood  with  lifted  pantomimic  arms,  di- 
rectly in  front  of  the  red-coated  soldiers,  and  the  masses 
of  people  made  a  circle  for  him.  I  moved  forward  breath- 
lessly as  he  began  to  speak.  His  face  was  set  and  pale. 
Within  his  fanatical  soul  lay  a  spirit  of  vast  intellectu- 
ality ;  yet  I  knew  that  the  great  soul  was  diseased,  and 
ready  to  throw  away  its  human  life  for  a  demanding  con- 
science. 

Here  and  there  other  priests  scuttled  through  the  place 
and  disappeared  into  the  masses;  but  the  young  priest 
talked  on. 

"  It's  the  church  of  my  God,"  I,  pressing  still  closer, 
heard  him  say,  "  the  home  of  the  Queen  of  Heaven  and  of 
her  Christ  Child.  I  will  protect  her  from  your  wanton 
swords  —  the  taint  of  Sodom's  fleshpots !  " 

His  voice  rang  out,  sure-toned  and  strong,  and  an  eager, 
excited  throng  of  people  pushed  forward.  The  priest's 
words  were  taken  up  as  they  fell  and  passed  backward  from 
mouth  to  mouth.  I  elbowed  myself  into  the  front  row, 
wriggling  nearer  to  catch  every  word. 

"  Stand  back ! "  the  gendarme  ordered  the  insistent 
priest.  "  Stand  back !  It's  sure  death  to  pass ! " 

"  Death  ?  Do  I  fear  death  ?  "  And  the  deep  voice 
lifted  the  words  and  threw  them  into  the  soldier's  face. 
"  It's  a  small  thing  to  give  one's  life  for  the  Mother 
Church  today  —  and  always.  I  will  go  through  and  de- 
fend her  altars !  I  had  rather  be  a  doorkeeper  in  the  house 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  121 

of  my  Lord  than  stand  with  all  the  world's  riches  in  my 
hand." 

I  peered  into  his  face,  and  an  expression  indomitable  as 
death  swept  over  it.  He  thrust  forth  his  big,  dark  head, 
and  ran  toward  the  line  of  gendarmes.  With  sudden  de- 
cision, the  soldier  in  front  of  him  lowered  his  bayonet,  and 
the  heavy,  black-robed  figure  ran  directly  upon  it. 

The  glittering  blade  disappeared  as  it  swerved  through 
the  priest's  body,  and  a  tiny  bright  point  gleamed  out 
through  the  long  soutane  at  the  back.  The  powerful  head 
lifted  into  the  air  as  the  body  writhed  and  turned  like  a 
gallant  hound  transfixed  on  the  antlers  of  a  stag  at  bay. 
Wonderful  deep-set  eyes  raised  upward  in  dying  agony 
toward  the  stone  church  and  leveled  their  exalted  gaze  at 
the  sculptured  figure  at  the  top.  For  one  instant  the  long 
arms  extended  themselves  high  in  the  air. 

"  Ave  Maria!  "  gurgled  the  twitching  mouth,  just  as 
crimson  death  bubbles  gathered  large  upon  the  open  lips 
and  burst  into  prismatic  coloring  in  the  sun.  A  soul, 
large,  sensitive,  and  anxious,  fought  for  a  moment  with 
brawn  and  brain,  then  gathered  itself  for  flight,  and  was 
gone  as  the  soldier  drew  out  his  bloody  bayonet. 

For  an  instant  I  bent  low  and  looked  into  the  glazing, 
unconscious  eyes.  But  as  I  drew  back  from  the  priest's 
side  the  mob  burst  into  a  huge  roar  that  echoed  and  re- 
echoed against  the  stone  church  like  the  laughter  of  devils. 
It  was  just  then  that  there  came  a  blinding  flash  and  a 
thunderous  cannonade,  and  the  next  thing  I  remember  I 
was  crushed  against  a  stone  wall  —  the  moans  of  a  human 
voice  sounding  in  my  ears. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  shock  had  been  so  great  that  I  was  unable  to 
remember  immediately  what  had  happened.  Then  I 
saw  a  maddened  crowd  hurrying  into  the  boulevards 
away  from  Place  de  la  Madeleine.  At  first,  my  eyes  were 
better  than  my  ears ;  for  the  groans,  which  were  really  near 
me,  seemed  miles  away.  Here  and  there  people  were  hastily 
picking  themselves  up  from  the  earth  —  and  none  was 
dead  but  the  black  figure  near  the  motionless  row  of  sol- 
diers. 

As  my  ears  gathered  power  to  hear  better,  I  realized 
that  the  groaning  sound  came  directly  from  my  right.  A 
boy  of  perhaps  twenty  years  or  so,  holding  his  hands 
frantically  to  his  face,  lay  close  to  the  small  tables  of  the 
corner  cafe,  where  he  had  been  thrown  by  the  explosion. 

I  crawled  over  to  him  and  touched  his  shoulder.  "  Are 
you  hurt?"  I  whispered;  for  as  yet  my  voice  was  not 
strong. 

And  to  my  surprise  he  answered  in  English,  "  Oh,  I 
believe  my  eyes  are  out.  I  am  sure  I've  lost  my  sight.  I 
can't  see,  and  they  hurt  me  so ! " 

"Hush!  Don't  cry  like  that,"  I  cautioned.  "You'll 
attract  the  police.  You  don't  want  them  to  take  you  away, 
do  you  ?  Sit  up ! " 

The  boy  rolled  over  and  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posi- 
tion. I,  too,  sat  up  and  loosened  his  hands  from  his  face. 

"Let  me  see!" 

"  What  was  that  flash?  "  he  breathed.  "  It  seemed  as 
though  it  was  sent  straight  into  my  face.  A  dark  man 
stood  beside  me,  and  we  were  watching  that  priest.  When 

122 


.  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  123 

the  soldier  thrust  his  sword  forward,  the  man  close  to  me 
muttered  something  in  Italian,  and  then  came  that  roar. 
Great  God !  I  am  blinded  for  life ! " 

"  Hold  your  head  still,  while  I  look  at  your  eyes ! " 

His  fair  English  face  was  slightly  burned  in  patches 
from  the  powder;  but  the  wide,  sightless  blue  eyes  seemed 
to  be  untouched. 

"  They're  not  burned,"  I  said.     "  Can  you  walk?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  where  shall  I  go  ?  "  he  groaned.  "  My 
friends  won't  be  home,  and  I  don't  dare  ask  an  officer. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  Blind  —  in  the  name  of  God !  " 

"  Stand  on  your  feet,"  said  I,  "  and  hold  tight  to  my 
hand." 

I  aided  him  to  get  up  as  best  I  could.  With  one  hand 
he  steadied  himself  by  placing  it  on  one  of  the  small  metal 
tables,  and  with  the  other  he  held  frantically  to  mine. 

It  had  all  happened  in  such  a  brief  time  that  the  sol- 
diery had  not  gathered  their  wits  together. 

"  Will  you  come  to  my  home  until  you  can  decide  what 
to  do?"  I  ventured.  "Cornel  the  soldiers  are  moving! 
Come,  come ! " 

"  Arrest  the  leaders ! "  cried  a  strong  voice,  and  the  line 
broke  up  as  the  redcoats  scattered  into  the  crowd. 

"  Walk  as  if  you  could  see,"  I  whispered,  and  then,  stag- 
gering into  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines,  I  led  the  boy 
through  Rue  Scribe  to  the  corner,  and  turning  to  the  left 
struck  off  toward  the  river.  We  went  on  unmolested,  I 
leading,  but  pretending  to  follow;  and  the  boy,  with  a 
strong  pretense  of  seeing,  held  his  head  high.  Through 
some  of  the  quieter  streets  we  walked  slowly. 

"  Hear  that  mob  on  the  avenue  ?  "  he  exclaimed  shud- 
deringly.  "  What  a  confounded  row !  Are  they  coming 
this  way?  " 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  I  believe  they  are  going  off  toward  the 
Notre  Dame." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Until  we  crossed  the  bridge  and  came  close  to  Rue  de 
Bac,  we  said  no  more.  I  expected  every  moment  that  my 
companion  would  tell  me  that  he  was  regaining  his  sight ; 
but  his  nerves  still  kept  up  the  tiny,  individual  flutter  that 
I  could  feel  plainly  through  his  coat  sleeve. 

"  Where  do  you  live,"  he  demanded,  "  and  where  are  we 
now?  It  seems  as  though  we  had  walked  for  miles." 

«  We've  come  some  distance,"  I  explained ;  "  but  I  dared 
not  take  you  through  the  Avenue  de  1'Opera, —  it's  full  of 
soldiers, —  and  there's  no  hope  for  a  fiacre,  you  see?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  answered  with  effort.  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don for  speaking  like  that.  But  you  see  my  nerves  are 
pretty  rotten,  and  my  eyes  burn  like  fire." 

"  Hot  water  will  ease  the  pain,"  I  replied.  "  We  won't 
go  into  St.  Michel  by  the  river  rue.  There  are  too  many 
soldiers  there." 

We  threaded  narrow  streets  for  over  a  mile,  and  then, 
turning,  came  directly  into  the  glare  of  Boulevard  St. 
Michel.  Here  and  there  I  recognized  a  woman  I  knew. 
In  the  near  distance  I  saw  Lady  Jane  Grey;  but  I  hoped 
she  had  not  seen  me,  and  hurried  the  boy  on. 

When  we  reached  the  house  I  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Lift 
your  feet.  We're  going  upstairs." 

We  entered  without  making  a  sound,  and  I  closed  the 
(door  carefully  because  I  did  not  want  Captain  Zadie  to 
hear  me  if  she  should  happen  to  be  at  home. 

"  Sit  there,"  I  said  in  low  tones,  "  and  don't  make  a 
noise,  if  you  can  help  it.  Now  that  you  are  here,  I  can 
bathe  your  eyes,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  be  able  to  use 
them  in  a  few  minutes." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?  I  say,  I  don't  know  how  to 
thank  you.  It's  awfully  decent  of  you.  I  only  hope  that 
I  shall  be  able  to  return  your  kindness  some  day.  I  feel 
such  a  precious  fool  at  this  minute!  I  can't  even  think." 

"  Don't  try,"  I  soothed.     "  I'm  going  to  put  hot  water 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  125 

on  jour  eyes,  and  then  when  the  city  is  quieter  you  can  go 
home." 

During  this  conversation  I  had  poured  water  into  a  small 
tin  kettle  and  had  placed  it  on  the  stove. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  my  hair?  "  broke  in  the  boy 
suddenly. 

I  went  to  him,  and  lifted  the  light  locks  from  his  fore- 
head. These  were  untouched;  but  something  had  passed 
over  the  top  of  his  head  and  singed  off  the  curls  as  sharply 
as  if  a  pair  of  scissors  had  cut  them. 

"  There's  nothing  much  the  matter  with  it,"  I  answered 
reluctantly.  "  You've  lost  your  cap ;  but  your  head  is 
not  bleeding.  There  are  a  few  cuts  on  your  face ;  but 
when  I  wash  them  they  won't  look  half  bad." 

"  But  it's  my  eyes.  I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever  see 
again.  Oh,  damn — "  His  voice  broke,  and  a  despair- 
ing cry  broke  from  him  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Hush !  "  I  implored.     "  Hush ! " 

Before  I  could  say  more  I  heard  a  door  open  and  close, 
and  a  heavy  footstep  nearing  my  room.  Rap !  rap !  rap ! 
I  leaned  over,  placed  my  fingers  on  the  boy's  lips,  and 
waited  breathlessly.  The  knocking  began  again,  and  this 
time  it  was  louder  and  more  importunate.  Zadie's  voice 
cried  out  commandingly : 

"  Ouvrez!  Pheelis,  open  the  door.  I  know  you  ees 
there ! " 

I  hesitated;  then  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  and  stood 
in  the  doorway.  I  scarcely  recognized  the  usually  calm 
woman  in  the  frenzied  creature  before  me.  She  pushed 
me  aside  and  stepped  in. 

"  So  Lady  Jane  has  not  lie  I  She  say  you  bring  man  in 
here.  I  not  believe  it.  Thees  ees  not  Donnez  moi  un 
cadeau!  " 

She  looked  straight  and  fixedly  at  me,  and  the  boy  rose 
to  his  feet. 


126  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  This  isn't  what?  "  he  whispered.     "  This  isn't  what?  " 

"  Eet  ees  no  place  for  you,  you  wretched  boy.  Allez- 
vous!  Geetout!" 

She  could  not  drag  her  accusing  gaze  from  my  face. 
I  bounded  forward  and  grasped  her  hands. 

"  Zadie,  for  God's  love,  listen !  He  is  blind,  and  I 
brought  him  here  to  help  him !  " 

She  turned  slowly  and  looked  at  the  trembling  youth. 
He  was  feeling  his  way  to  the  door  with  upturned  face, 
chalk-white  and  drawn  with  pain. 

"  I'll  go,"  said  he.     "  I  didn't  understand." 

A  peculiar  sound  came  from  Zadie's  lips.  I  noticed 
that  she  was  staring  at  him,  a  tragic  expression  settling 
about  her  mouth. 

"  You  might  have  told  me ! "  the  boy  cried  sharply. 
"  You  might  have  told  me !  Where  are  you,  Girl?  " 

"  I'm  here,"  I  cried,  springing  toward  him.  "  I'm 
sorry.  It's  the  only  home  I  have." 

I  spoke  angrily  to  Zadie;  but  she  didn't  heed  me  any 
more  than  if  I  had  not  been  there.  She  touched  the  boy's 
arm  with  infinite  tenderness. 

"  How  came  you  in  Paree  ? "  she  breathed.  "  And 
where  you  lif  ?  " 

The  water  was  boiling,  and  I  interposed,  "  Put  this  on 
his  face,  Zadie.  He  was  hurt  in  the  riot." 

My  anger  had  died.  Zadie  had  come  in  with  the  de- 
termination to  save  me  from  myself;  but,  seeing  her  mis- 
take, was  eager  to  aid  the  poor,  helpless  boy.  For  the 
next  half-hour  we  relieved  him  as  much  as  possible;  but 
he  did  not  speak  again,  keeping  the  cloth  held  tight  to 
his  eyes. 

'*  You  haf  not  tell  me  your  name,"  Zadie  said  presently. 

"  No,"  replied  the  boy  slowly.  "  It  was  because  I  didn't 
think.  My  name  is  Max  Donnithorne !  " 

His  blind  eyes  were  directed  upon  Zadie.     I  stood  so 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  127 

close  to  her  that  when  she  swayed  before  him  I  caught  her 
by  the  arm. 

"Zadie!"  I  cried.     "Zadie!" 

She  brushed  me  aside  impetuously,  and  the  boy  made  a 
movement  to  depart. 

"You  not  go  alone,"  Zadie  said  bruskly,  and  I  scarcely 
recognized  her  voice.  "  I  find  you  voiture.  The  pain 
ees  better?  " 

"  Yes.  Please  let  me  go  now.  I  can't  stay  here ! 
There's  something  awful  in  this  place ! " 

I  made  no  effort  to  detain  him,  and  Zadie  led  him  out. 
I  could  hear  her  talking  to  him  as  they  walked  down  the 
long  flight  of  stairs.  When  I  peeped  from  the  window, 
I  saw  her  place  him  tenderly  in  a  cab,  and  as  it  rolled 
away  she  ran  into  the  center  of  the  boulevard  and  watched 
it  until  it  was  out  of  sight.  Then  she  disappeared  swiftly 
into  the  doorway,  and,  without  pausing  to  speak  to  me, 
rushed  into  her  own  rooms  and  locked  the  door. 

It  took  fully  five  minutes  of  entreaty  and  pounding 
before  she  opened  it.  Her  face  was  blistered  and  red. 
Her  eyes  at  the  corners  were  wrinkled  deeply,  and  the 
coarse  red  hair  was  tumbled  and  awry. 

"  Zadie ! "  I  exclaimed,  throwing  my  arms  about  her. 
"  Don't  cry !  Why  should  you  let  a  boy  like  that  disturb 
your  feelings?  His  eyes  will  come  out  all  right." 

She  seated  herself  again,  and  with  a  sob  began  fumbling 
at  the  front  of  her  dress.  "  Look ! "  she  screamed. 
"  Look !  Eet  ees  he !  The  Engleesh  child !  Mon  Dieu! 
I  ees  hees  mother!  See  hees  father!  How  like!  How 
like!" 

I  bent  over  and  looked  at  the  pictured  face.  The  min- 
iature was  of  a  boy  of  perhaps  twenty  years,  with 
the  same  wide-open,  laughing  eyes  as  the  other  boy  might 
have  had  before  the  accident.  A  mass  of  curls  was  piled 
high  on  a  finely  shaped  head,  and  the  firm  chin  and  mouth 


128  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

were  the  counterpart  of  those  belonging  to  the  youth  just 
departed. 

Shocked,  I  answered,  "  The  boy  who  was  here  is 
your  — " 

"  Engleesh  son,"  Zadie  gasped.  "  Oh,  Pheelis !  How: 
I  vant  to  see  him  one  more  time !  " 

We  did  not  speak  for  another  hour ;  but  I  held  the  huge 
red  head  in  my  arms  and  wiped  the  swollen  eyes  —  and 
neither  of  us  went  into  the  boulevard  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IT  was  eight  o'clock  this  evening  when,  feeling  it  im- 
perative that  I  should  beg  even  on  a  rainy  night,  I 
took  my  umbrella,  lifted  my  skirts,  and  sallied  forth. 
Since  the  night  of  little  Nan's  rescue  I  had  not  been  in  the 
Cafe  D'Harcourt ;  but  the  warmth,  the  lights,  and  a  desire 
to  get  out  of  the  rain  lured  me  in  that  direction.  As  I 
walked  along  I  lowered  my  umbrella  because  it  accidentally 
bumped  into  another.  The  rapid  walk  of  the  man  indi- 
cated a  set  purpose. 

"  Dorniez  moi  un  cadeau,"  chanted  I  in  an  undertone. 
The  words  froze  on  my  lips. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  a  familiar  voice.  "  I  didn't  mean  to 
run  over  you.  You  spoke  to  me?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied  in  English,  "  I  didn't  speak.  I'm 
sorry  — " 

The  next  moment  Roger  Everard  was  looking  intently, 
curiously,  into  my  eyes.  My  legs  doubled  suddenly  and 
almost  refused  to  hold  me  up. 

"  Phyllis  Fitzpatrick !  How  strange  to  meet  you ! 
Come  in  here  for  a  moment  and  let  us  talk.  We'll  get 
some  coffee." 

He  was  leading  me  toward  the  Cafe  D'Harcourt. 

"  Not  there,  not  there ! ?'  I  said  nervously.  "  Don't  let's 
go  into  that  place." 

I  was  afraid  of  being  seen  with  him  in  any  one 
of  my  nightly  haunts;  but  he  did  not  perceive  my 
agitation.  The  rain  still  pattered;  but  to  me  the  night 
was  radiant  with  brightness  and  Paris  was  again  a 
beautiful  city.  What  a  change  a  few  moments  had 
wrought!  I  was  too  excited  for  speech,  and  seated  my- 

129 


130  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

self  with  a  happy  sigh  in  a  small  cafe  on  Boulevard  St. 
Germain. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  that  I  should  meet  you  in 
Paris?  "  ejaculated  Roger.  "  Yes,  of  course,  I  knew  you 
were  here  studying.  Doesn't  this  seem  cheerful?  " 

Cheerful !  If  he  only  knew !  How  many  times  I  had 
longed  to  see  him !  How  many  times  I  had  drawn  him  be- 
fore my  vision! 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  I  queried,  hoping  that  he 
would  not  ask  me  too  many  questions. 

"  I  am  here  studying  art,  and  attending  a  few  lectures 
in  the  Sorbonne  University.  Getting  a  general  knowledge 
of  French.  How  do  you  like  Paris  ?  " 

"  I  love  it,"  I  said  quickly,  and  at  that  moment  I  did 
love  it ;  for  was  he  not  with  me,  and  I  with  him?  His  pres- 
ence had  changed  all  the  outside  murkiness. 

"  I  like  it,  too.  I've  done  a  lot  of  work  here.  I  haven't 
seen  you  since  that  dinner  at  the  Waldorf.  Do  you  re- 
member? " 

"  Yes,  indeed.  But  I  heard  you  were  studying  in  New 
York." 

He  meditated  before  answering.  "  I  was  in  New  York ; 
but  decided  to  come  over  and  see  what  Parisian  art  could 
do  for  me.  But  tell  me  what  you're  doing,"  he  com- 
manded smilingly. 

I  drew  my  wet  boots  under  my  skirts,  and  —  and  told 
him  a  lie.  Oh,  the  remorse  I've  suffered  over  that  un- 
truth !  I  hate  lies  —  how  I  hate  them  1  I  said  I  was 
studying  singing,  and  that  I  loved  my  work,  and  that  at 
some  remote  period,  when  Paris  could  do  no  more  for 
me,  I  hoped  to  return  to  America,  an  artist.  When  I  had 
finished,  my  head  dropped  in  confusion,  and  in  silence  I 
contented  myself  with  furtive  glances  at  the  grave,  earnest 
face  so  full  of  purpose. 

"  Why,  that  is  simply  delightful !  "  he  broke  out.     "  My 


THE       NKXT       MOMLNT       ROCKK        I.VKRARH         WAS         I.OOK1M:         INIKNTLV, 
C'URIOl  SI  V     INTO      Ml       I    i 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  131 

mother  and  I  are  here  for  a  year,  and  we  can  all  have  such 
good  times  together.  It  brings  back  old  days  to  see  you. 
I  think,"  he  mused,  "  I  remember  hearing  that  you  suf- 
fered in  that  bank  smash  in  which  poor  Coster  figured." 

"  Not  to  any  terrifying  extent,"  I  assured  him.  "  I 
had  drawn  a  great  deal  of  money  before  the  failure,  and 
had  transferred  it  to  a  bank  in  Paris." 

In  comparison  with  his  honest  geniality,  my  deception 
made  me  crimson  with  shame.  I  tremblingly  resolved  that 
he  should  never  know  of  the  dismal  role  poverty  had  thrust 
upon  me.  I  met  his  eyes  in  bitterness  of  spirit.  I  had 
not  dreamed  they  were  half  so  beautiful  as  they  really 
were, —  I  mentally  likened  their  color  to  the  blue  of  the 
sky,  the  purple  of  the  sea  at  the  dying  of  the  sun. 

"  Good ! "  he  said.  "  I  was  afraid  that  you  had  had 
it  all  in  the  trust  company  at  the  time.  Now  I  want  to 
know  where  you  are  living.  In  a  pension?  In  rooms? 
Or  where?  You  must  be  awfully  lonely  without  any  of 
your  friends  here.  I'll  come  and  look  you  up  tomorrow; 
but  I  can't  accompany  you  home  just  yet.  I  have  to  go 
to  the  American  Club.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  come  with 
me?  " 

I  went  unhesitatingly,  although  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau 
rang  like  a  prison  knell  in  my  ears. 

"  Isn't  it  strange? "  he  said,  as  he  walked  rapidly 
through  the  rain.  "  I  thought  when  we  collided  that  you 
were  a  French  girl,  and  that  you  said  something  to  me." 

"  No,"  I  dissented  slowly.  "  I  didn't  speak  to  you  in 
French." 

Two  lies!  I'd  rather  almost  die  than  be  untruthful  to 
him.  In  misery,  I  walked  beside  him,  and  it  seemed  that 
beckoning  specters  crowded  upon  me  from  all  sides.  The 
Boulevard  St.  Michel  called  me.  Donnez  moi  shrieked 
from  every  dark  corner. 

We  took  the   bus   a  short   distance  down   the   avenue. 


132  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Upon  our  arrival  at  the  club,  Roger  ushered  me  into  a 
small  room  where  a  young  man  sat  idly  running  over  the 
keys  of  a  piano. 

"  Mr.  Griegson,"  said  Roger,  "  this  is  Miss  Fitzpat- 
rick  from  America.  She's  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  I 
came  upon  her  tonight  quite  by  accident.  I  haven't  asked 
her,  but  I  believe  that  she  will  sing  for  us  sometime." 

Boulevard  St.  Michel !  Boulevard  St.  Michel !  Donnez 
moi  un  cadeau!  What  shall  I  do  when  he  asks  me  to  sing? 
Why,  sing,  of  course,  and  sing,  and  sing,  until  I  feel  as  if 
I  were  living  again. 

But  I  dared  not  then  remain  with  him ;  for  he  had  pro- 
posed going  home  with  me  later.  So,  while  he  was  oc- 
cupied with  his  duties  I  left  a  note  with  Mr.  Griegson 
saying  that  I  could  not  wait,  for  I  had  an  appointment 
with  a  girl  friend.  I  asked  him  also  to  meet  me  tomorrow 
in  the  Place  St.  Michel  near  the  Seine,  adding  a  post- 
script that  if  he  were  unable  to  come  I  should  be  there  at 
the  same  place  and  hour  the  next  day,  or  even  the  day 
after  that. 

Oh,  if  I  could  have  left  Roger  tonight  without  once 
having  said  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau! 

•  •  •  •  •  R  •  • 

I'm  ready  for  bed  now,  and  as  soon  as  I  open  my  eyes 
I  shall  go  to  the  church  and  burn  candles.  Afterward  I'll 
go  to  the  Louvre  to  see  the  picture  of  the  Christ  there. 
It  is  a  famous  picture,  Zadie  says,  and  that  when  one 
first  glances  at  it,  it  looks  as  though  the  face  were  dead; 
but,  after  studying  it  awhile,  the  eyes  seem  to  open,  and 
the  divine  countenance  lights  up  with  a  benediction. 

Oh,  I  want  to  be  what  Roger  thinks  I  am!  But  how 
can  I?  I  must  live,  I  must  eat,  and  my  only  resource  is 
the  boulevards.  I  desire  to  be  good,  too.  Only  a  short 
time  since,  I  should  have  died  rather  than  knowingly  sin. 
If  it  be  a  sin  to  beg  for  bread,  then  I  have  sinned  indeed ! 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  133 

It  Is  so  much  harder  to  die  for  lack  of  bread  than  for 
principle's  sake !  Hunger  is  death  to  life  —  and  moral 
sensibilities. 

Zadie  shrugs  her  shoulders  when  I  discuss  the  problems 
of  life  with  her,  and  grimly  remarks,  "  The  world  owes 
you  a  lifing,  and  you  get  eet  the  best  you  can.  Luf  every- 
body, be  good  to  everybody,  and  what  more  the  good  Christ 
want,  eh  ?  " 

Three  wonderful  things  have  happened  today}  I  wish 
to  record  them  that  I  may  read  them  over  at  some  future 
time  when  I  have  grown  old,  and  my  existence  in  Paris  is 
far  in  the  past.  Then  I  may  be  able  to  live  again  the  great 
happiness  that  has  come  to  me  even  here  —  in  Boulevard 
St.  Michel! 

After  drinking  my  coffee,  I  sat  down  to  mend  the  braid 
torn  from  my  dark  walking  skirt.  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  to  go  first  to  Notre  Dame  to  burn  candles,  then  to 
the  Louvre  to  see  the  picture  of  Christ,  and  this  blessed 
afternoon  to  keep  my  rendezvous  with  Roger. 

These  three  pilgrimages  of  mine  are  curiously  sym- 
bolical of  the  three  great  powers  in  a  girl's  life, —  for  a 
woman's  delight  in  living  lies  in  the  possession  of  her 
faith,  art,  and  love.  I  have  learned  that  when  one  falls 
in  love  religion  becomes  a  waking  cry  in  the  heart,  and 
that  everything  beautiful,  sensuously  speaking,  increases 
the  new  and  vivifying  life  of  the  emotions.  Only  last 
night,  before  going  to  sleep,  I  read  over  some  beautiful 
poetry.  These  same  verses  a  short  time  ago,  when  the 
shadows  of  the  boulevards  were  in  my  eyes,  seemed  empty 
and  futile. 

Varied  thoughts  of  my  future  occupied  my  mind  as  I 
sewed  industriously ;  but  footsteps  in  the  hall  outside,  and 
a  rap  on  Lady  Jane's  door,  dispelled  my  contemplative 
mood. 


134  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

The  low,  deep  voice  of  Jane's  American  brought  me 
slowly  to  my  feet.  The  skirt  slipped  to  the  floor,  the 
needle  becoming  lost  in  the  folds  of  the  cloth.  I  listened 
intently,  and  my  face  grew  cold;  then  the  blood  rushed 
hot  to  my  eyes.  I  heard  the  voice  that  had  thrilled  me 
for  weeks.  The  man  whom  I  had  desired  to  see,  he  who 
had  been  constantly  in  Lady  Jane's  room,  was  —  Roger 
Everard ! 

I  felt  an  inexplicable  sudden  change.  My  lips  whitened 
and  became  hard  under  a  feeling  I  had  never  known. 
Every  vestige  of  the  girl  I  was  the  minute  before  disap- 
peared in  the  desperate  faintness  that  swept  over  me  as 
I  strained  my  ears  to  hear  the  voice,  pleading  for  the  life 
and  honor  of  a  French  cocotte.  Lady  Jane  was  better 
than  I ;  for  she  had  but  followed  the  custom  of  her  coun- 
try, walking  in  the  same  path  with  her  sister  women, 
whose  lives  had  been  unfortunately  cast.  But  with  me  — 

I  crouched  down  on  the  skirt  in  terror  —  listening  — 
listening  to  the  tones  I  had  grown  to  love  by  instinct  and 
yet  had  not  before  recognized  as  Roger's.  I  was  too  ex- 
cited to  understand  the  meaning  of  his  words :  it  was  enough 
to  know  that  he  was  with  Lady  Jane  —  enough  to  realize 
that  he  sought  her  welfare. 

Yesterday  there  was  but  the  thought  that  I  loved  him ; 
today  there  was  the  desire  to  have  him  for  my  own.  Lady 
Jane  was  a  lost  woman  in  the  eyes  of  Roger  Everard ;  but 
as  far  as  he  knew  I  was  as  innocent  as  the  angels  in  Heaven. 

I  sprang  to  my  feet,  strangling  a  cry,  and  stood  in 
indecision.  A  maddening  thought  overpowered  me:  he 
might  sometime  know  that  I  had  been  sneaking  through 
the  shadows  of  darkest  Paris  begging  bits  of  money  from 
her  darkest  sons. 

I  would  drag  him  back  to  America,  and  the  sights  of 
Paris  would  be  lost  with  the  memories  of  Boulevard  St. 
Michel. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  135 

I  crawled  softly  toward  the  double  doors  that  separated 
my  rooms  from  Jane's.  Through  the  crack  down  the  cen- 
ter I  could  see  them  plainly. 

I  noticed  that  Roger  had  not  taken  off  his  overcoat  nor 
unfastened  the  wrap  about  his  strong  throat.  Lady  Jane 
was  crouching  on  the  hearth-rug  like  a  fawning  tigress, 
her  naked  neck  gleaming  white  against  the  bright-hued 
dressing  gown.  Her  hair,  one  brilliant  mass,  fell  about 
her  piquant  face,  and  the  witchery  of  her  eyes  was  veiled 
by  her  heavy  lids.  I  drew  my  breath  in  an  admiring 
gasp.  How  could  any  earthly  man  resist  loving  such  a 
beautiful  creature?  Then  her  long  lashes  lifted  slowly 
upward. 

"  Tell  me  in  your  joli  Engleesh,  slow,"  she  lisped  in 
stammering  English.  "  I  understand.  I  like  talk  your 
—  your  Engleesh." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  won't  understand,  Jane,"  answered 
Roger.  "  You  don't  know  how  differently  we  think  about 
women  in  our  country.  I  have  told  you  that  our  men 
don't  believe  the  same  as  yours  do  here." 

By  the  expression  of  her  eyes  I  knew  that  she  did  under- 
stand. She  smiled  and  dragged  closer  to  him. 

"  You  be  Frenchman  then,  you  be  Frenchman !  " 

I  shivered.  I  realized  now  why  those  two  women  on  the 
boulevard  had  fought  like  two  lionesses.  It  was  over  just 
such  a  man  as  this.  I  felt  that  I  could  fight  with  Jane 
if  she  tried  to  keep  Roger  from  me.  I  couldn't  stop  to 
argue  with  my  better  self.  The  storm  of  jealousy,  of 
physical  hatred,  raged  through  my  senses  until  I  couldn't 
reason.  I  stretched  out  flat  on  the  floor,  my  feet  on  the 
unmended  skirt  and  my  eyes  glued  to  the  crack  between  the 
two  doors. 

"  Jane,  I  will  never  come  here  after  today ! " 

She  understood  this  also;  for  she  looked  at  Roger  with 
half  closed  eyes,  her  teeth  gleaming  through  her  red  lips. 


136  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

How  sensuous  she  looked,  how  like  some  beautiful,  wild 
creature  of  the  forest!  Then  she  flung  her  arms  about 
his  knees,  clung  to  him,  beseeching  him  not  to  go,  and  im- 
ploring him  in  a  flow  of  broken  English  and  French  love 
words  to  remain  always  with  her.  He  struggled  to  free 
himself;  but  she  rose  panting  to  her  feet  and  flung  both 
arms  round  his  neck. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Jane,  don't  look  at  me  like  that ! " 
stammered  Roger.  "  No  —  no !  Don't  put  your  arms 
about  my  neck !  My  God !  My  God !  " 

Her  tightly  closed  arms  drew  his  head  down  to  hers, 
and  his  voice  died  away,  smothered  under  her  kisses.  For 
an  instant  I  was  impelled  to  thrust  myself  through  the 
doors  and  tear  him  from  her.  A  great  thought  flashed 
into  my  brain,  and  I  stifled  a  cry  of  gladness.  He  would 
be  mine;  for  I  was  unlike  Jane  in  spite  of  my  mingling 
with  the  nighthawks  of  Paris. 

By  main  strength  Roger  forced  her  back,  stood  up,  and 
tightened  his  fur  collar  with  a  desperate  jerk. 

"  Jane,  listen  to  me !  Will  you  hear  me?  I  can  do  you 
no  good.  I've  honestly  tried.  You  would  drag  me  down 
to  the  level  of  the  men  you  know.  Men  in  our  country 
make  only  good  women  their  wives  and  the  mothers  of 
their  children.  Jane,  I  will  not  come  here  again !  " 

She  made  no  answer;  but  daggered  him  with  her  eyes. 
Turning  abruptly,  she  flung  herself  in  a  fury  on  the  divan. 
Roger  looked  hesitatingly  at  her,  and  made  as  if  to  open 
the  door.  Then  he  walked  back  slowly  toward  her  and 
bending  down  touched  her  shoulder. 

"  Jane !  "  he  said  brokenly.     "  Get  up,  Jane !  " 

Her  eyes  darkened  with  resentment,  and  she  motioned 
him  away.  "  Go !  "  she  spat  up  at  him.  "  Vas!  " 

"  Can't  you  see,  Jane,"  he  urged,  keeping  his  hand 
upon  her  arm,  **  that  it's  your  soul  I  want,  and  not  your 
body?" 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  157 

"  My  soul !  "  she  screamed,  springing  up.  "  My  soul ! 
Vhat  good  ees  that  to  you?  Eet's  my  body  I  vant  you  to 
take !  My  soul  may  go  where  it  will.  My  soul !  My 
soul!  Pah!  You  think  I  can  haf  a  soul?  Souls  are  for 
the  reech  —  reech  women  can  have  such  things.  Soft  beds, 
food,  luf !  Those  are  for  women  you  like !  " 

Roger  said  something  inaudible  to  me,  and  she  ceased 
instantly.  He  straightened  up,  and  threw  his  head  be- 
yond reach  of  the  grasping  fingers  of  the  cocotte.  The 
lines  of  the  beautiful  young  form  under  the  dressing  robe 
showed  plainly  as  her  body  twisted  and  turned.  Instantly 
her  mood  changed  and  she  cooed  to  him  in  soft,  liquid 
French. 

Roger  wheeled  away  from  her.  "  Jane !  Jane,  you 
forget !  I've  told  you  that  I  do  not  love  you." 

She  shuddered  and  breathed  seductively.  "  Come  weez 
me !  Come  weez  me !  " 

"  No,  Jane,  listen !  I  love  another  woman  —  one  I've 
known  a  long  time.  I  will  not  see  you  again.  I  can  do 
you  no  good,  and  you  must  let  me  go ! " 

I  rolled  away  from  the  door,  picked  up  my  skirt,  and 
stitched  on  with  conflicting  thoughts. 

In  another  instant  I  heard  Roger's  footsteps  on  the 
hall  floor  and  a  subdued  whimper  in  Lady  Jane's  room. 
I  must  plan  quickly  to  leave  Boulevard  St.  Michel,  and  in 
a  way  that  Roger  should  never  know  that  I  had  been 
tainted  with  it. 

After  a  time  I  heard  Lady  Jane  rush  through  the  hall 
and  down  the  stairs. 

•  •••$:•  5  « 

Later  I  went  to  Notre  Dame  to  offer  up  prayers  for  my 
beloved.  A  year  ago  I  should  have  called  burning  candles 
to  strengthen  my  petitions  a  superstition;  but  now  I  take 
infinite  comfort  in  this  act  of  devotion. 

Only  one  woman  was  kneeling  at  the  altar  railing.     Her 


138  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

face  was  lowered  over  her  slender  gloved  hands  that  slipped 
easily  over  the  rosary.  Silently  I  knelt  beside  her,  and 
began  my  prayer. 

Although  the  whispered  prayers  fell  smoothly  from  her 
lips,  my  neighbor,  ill  at  ease,  shifted  her  position.  Sud- 
denly, as  though  impelled,  she  raised  her  eyes,  and  they 
met  mine.  I  was  gazing  directly  into  the  face  of  —  Lady 
Jane  Grey !  She  ceased  praying,  and  so  did  I.  Stealthily, 
she  edged  a  little  nearer,  her  eyes  drawn  down  at  the 
corners,  and  her  mouth  pursed,  childlike.  Lady  Jane  had 
come  to  pray  for  Roger  Everard,  and  so  had  I ! 

Dropping  her  eyes,  she  murmured  again.  Long  and 
earnestly  she  sent  out  a  rhythmical  prayer.  She  paid  out 
another  franc  for  candles,  filled  up  some  empty  sockets, 
and  knelt  once  more.  I  did  the  same,  only  adding  a  sou. 
Then  I  knelt  beside  her.  I  heard  her  breath  hiss  through 
her  teeth.  She  opened  her  eyes,  and,  allowing  them  to 
rest  upon  me,  said  wickedly  in  a  vicious  undertone: 

"  Pig  —  chamois  —  twice  pig !  " 

She  had  learned  her  country's  unclean  words  in  English, 
and  her  pronunciation  was  perfect.  I  do  not  think  she 
had  any  idea  that  I  knew  her  American ;  but  she  realized 
that  I  was  different  —  different  as  men  count  difference 
in  women,  and  that  my  nationality  and  the  proximity  of 
my  dwelling  to  hers  menaced  her  happiness. 

Presently,  after  I  had  finished,  I  hastened  out  of  the 
church,  and  walked  rapidly  toward  the  Louvre.  At  the 
entrance  of  the  building  a  man  called  me  by  name.  I 
turned  quickly  and  halted;  for  Casperone  Larodi  stood 
looking  at  me.  His  face  was  pale,  drawn,  and  thin;  but 
his  eyes  expressed  surprise  and  pleasure.  A  weak  smile 
twitched  his  lips. 

"  At  last  I  have  found  you !  "  said  he. 

"  Please  don't  speak  to  me ! "  I  replied,  horrified  at  the 
sight  of  him. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  139 

"  Don't  be  cruel,  Phyllis.  Don't !  You  know  how  I 
love  you.  Oh,  what  I  have  gone  through  on  your  account 
—  it  was  all  for  you !  I  have  longed  to  meet  you,  yet 
dreaded  it." 

"  I'm  going  into  the  Louvre,"  I  answered,  breaking  in 
upon  his  words  without  ceremony.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
bothered  just  now." 

With  a  completeness  worthy  of  him,  he  ignored  my 
sarcastic  statement.  "  May  I  go  into  the  Louvre  with 
you?  "  he  asked. 

I  nodded  my  head. 

"  I  want  to  see  the  reproduction  of  a  beautiful  picture 
of  the  Savior  in  which  the  eyes  open  and  close,"  I  re- 
marked, purchasing  a  catalogue.  "  I  don't  know  the  name 
of  the  master." 

Casperone  was  scanning  me  curiously.  "  You're  sot 
changed,  Phyllis  —  so  different !  When  you  first  came  to 
Paris  you  loved  nothing  but  your  art;  but  now  —  the 
thought  that  you  could  be  in  that  house  has  made  me 
suffer  more  than  I've  imagined  it  possible  for  a  man  to 
suffer.  What  are  you  doing  nowadays  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  see  how  my  movements  can  interest  you,"  I 
answered  coldly. 

Through  the  long  halls  we  walked  in  silence.  Directly 
at  the  end  of  a  narrow  gallery  I  saw  the  picture  I  was 
seeking.  It  was  hung  beside  a  Madonna  from  whose  lap 
the  Holy  Child  lifted  tiny,  dimpled  hands.  It  seemed  im- 
possible that  the  happy  Babe  and  the  Man  of  Sorrows 
could  represent  one  and  the  same  person.  As  I  looked  I 
saw  the  man  was  dead  —  with  hanging  head  and  lowered 
eyelids.  Weary  lines  furrowed  the  flesh  from  brow  to 
lips.  Under  my  steady  gaze  the  prominent  whiskered  chin 
seemed  to  quiver,  so  dainty  had  been  the  brush  touches 
upon  it.  Suddenly  the  closed  eyes  flashed  open.  A  smile 
gathered  slowly  about  the  drawn  inouth,  the  suffering  lips 


140  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

appeared  to  part,  and,  still  searching  the  divine  portrait, 
I  caught  my  breath  and  sank  upon  a  bench. 

"  You  are  ill,  Phyllis !  "  gasped  Casperone. 

"  Hush !  "  I  breathed.     "  Hush !  " 

In  benediction  the  Savior  had  smiled  upon  me.  Surely 
he  could  not  close  those  brilliant  eyes  again!  I  pushed 
Casperone's  hand  from  my  arm,  my  glance  leaving  the  pic- 
tured face.  When  I  looked  once  more,  the  lids  had  fallen. 
It  was  to  me  as  though  the  light  of  the  sun  had  been  ex- 
tinguished. 

"  We  will  go  and  look  at  Venus  of  Milo,"  I  said,  rising 
to  my  feet,  "  and  afterward  come  back  here." 

Sitting  on  a  bench  before  the  mutilated  beauty,  Cas- 
perone said,  "  You  are  poor  now,  Phyllis.  I  won't  ques- 
tion what  you  have  done;  but  you  must  come  to  me.  I 
love  you  —  you  know  how  I  love  you  1 " 

My  thoughts  went  to  Roger.  I  was  poor  no  more,  now 
that  I  had  seen  him. 

"  Won't  you  let  me  help  you,  Phyllis?  You  will,  won't 
you  ?  "  Larodi  continued.  "  I  have  a  beautiful  little  apart- 
ment where  you  can  live.  You  shall  have  your  music. 
You  shall  have  all  that  I  can  give  you." 

I  did  not  attempt  to  explain  how  I  was  living;  but 
merely  answered  him  with  a  touch  of  irony  in  my  voice, 
"  If  I  am  with  you,  who  will  pay  for  my  luxuries  ?  " 

"  I  will !  It's  a  pleasure  for  a  man  to  provide  for  a 
woman  when  he  loves  her." 

"  But  a  wife  must  pay  a  husband's  bills  —  is  that  it?  " 

"  That's  quite  another  thing,  quite  another  thing !  A 
man  doesn't  always  love  his  wife;  but  he  can't  but  desire 
to  make  a  comfortable  home  for  the  woman  he  adores." 

"  As  a  wife,"  I  broke  in  with  sarcasm,  "  I  should  have 
been  quite  an  invaluable  prize  if  I  had  retained  my  money ! 
Shouldn't  I?" 

"A  man  must  marry  to  perpetuate  his  name,  and  to 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  141 

make  a  home  into  which  to  receive  his  friends,"  he  said 
irritably,  "  and  if  he  is  a  poor  devil  like  myself  he's  got  to 
marry  a  rich  woman.  But  with  you,  Phyllis,  I  could  be 
so  happy ! " 

"  Don't  touch  me,  Casperone ! "  I  cried,  drawing  away. 
"  I  told  you  that  I  could  never  care  for  you !  It  seems  to 
me  that  you  are  saturated  with  children's  blood." 

"  Mon  Dieu!  Can't  you  forget  that?  Can't  you  for- 
give? Don't  you  know  that  it  was  for  you,  Dear,  that 
I  wanted  to  be  rich?  You  could  make  me  a  better  man, 
Phyllis.  You  would  bring  Heaven  into  my  life.  Ah!  to 
have  you  in  my  arms  —  to  know  that  you  were  mine !  " 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  that  the  woman  you  may  love 
may  need  something  besides  luxuries?  "  I  demanded.  "  I 
mean  the  woman  you  can't  marry.  How  is  she  going  to 
have  a  home  for  her  friends,  and  live  up  to  the  nature 
within  her?  " 

"  You  wouldn't  need  those  things.  You  would  be  loved 
by  me  —  that's  enough !  " 

He  snatched  my  hand.  I  could  have  struck  him  in  the 
face  for  his  presumption;  but  cunningly  I  restrained  my 
anger,  already  having  decided  how  to  escape  from  Cas- 
perone. In  situations  like  this  I  had  been  taught  by  the 
boulevards  to  be  wary  of  people  of  his  caliber. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Phyllis !  I  must  have  money  to  keep  up 
the  name  my  father  has  left  me.  But  you  are  the  only 
woman  that  can  influence  my  life  in  any  way." 

"  Let  us  go  back  to  the  picture  of  the  Christ,"  I  said 
determinedly,  "  and  don't  speak  of  this  again." 

We  stood  once  more  before  the  famous  painting. 

"  His  eyes  are  closed  now,"  I  said  miserably. 

At  that  moment  I  longed  to  have  the  brilliant  smile  re- 
peated, which  had  for  one  moment  beamed  upon  me. 

"  If  the  eyes  ever  open,  it's  merely  a  trick,"  replied  Cas- 
perone.  "  I've  never  seen  it." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

• 

The  heavenly  smile,  then,  that  I  had  seen  had  been  mine, 
mine  alone.  If  that  stern,  dead  face  would  soften  but 
once  more,  I  could  go  away  with  a  blessing  resting  upon 
me.  Casperone  shifted  his  feet  uneasily. 

"  What  you  can  see  in  that  picture  is  more  than  I  can 
tell.  I'll  send  you  a  large  copy  of  it.  You  can  get  them 
anywhere  along  the  Rue  du  Rivoli." 

Suddenly  I  turned  to  him.  "  Will  you  come  home  with 
me  this  afternoon  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Avec  plaisir,"  he  whispered,  flushing. 

But  his  face  brightened  and  he  stooped  to  kiss  my  hand. 
With  my  handkerchief  I  brushed  away  the  dampness  his 
lips  left  on  me. 

"  Then  wait  here  until  I  speak  to  the  concierge." 

I  walked  hastily  to  a  man  in  the  corner,  and  demanded 
to  know  the  nearest  way  out.  I  have  wondered  what  Count 
Larodi  thought  I  had  asked.  He  must  have  noticed  the 
violent  gestures  of  the  watchman,  and,  if  he  had  been 
listening,  heard  the  man's  "  a  la  gauche."  I  slipped  out, 
and  escaped. 

In  two  minutes  more  I  was  walking  rapidly  into  Place 
St.  Michel. 

Long  before  I  reached  our  try  sting  place,  I  saw  Roger's 
stalwart  form  leaning  against  one  of  the  many  statues 
that  adorn  Paris.  His  greatcoat  was  drawn  tightly  up 
about  his  neck,  and  hanging  loosely  over  the  front  of  it 
was  the  same  scarf  I  had  noticed  on  him  in  Lady  Jane's 
room. 

"  What  an  unceremonious  leave  you  took  last  night !  "  he 
said  smilingly  as  I  came  toward  him.  "  I  didn't  intend 
you  to  go  home  alone." 

"  And  I  didn't  wish  to  disturb  you,"  I  explained ;  "  so 
I  left  the  note  and  slipped  away." 

"  Just  like  an  American  girl.     But  where  can  we  go  so 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  143 

i 

that  we  can  be  alone.  I  have  something  to  talk  over  with 
you." 

My  heart  leaped,  and  a  great  gladness  filled  my  soul.  I 
felt  sure  that  I  was  the  woman  he  loved.  I  managed  to 
control  myself  and  to  keep  the  joy  out  of  my  eyes,  the 
same  happiness  making  it  impossible  for  me  to  utter  a 
word  as  we  walked  to  a  cafe  close  by. 

After  we  had  seated  ourselves,  he  asked  with  some  hesi- 
tation : 

"  Do  you  want  to  save  money  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  blurted  out. 

"  Ah !  I  hoped  so !  One  doesn't  know,  in  Paris,  what 
will  happen  next.  Now,  I  have  a  proposition  to  make  to 
you,  and  if  you  don't  like  my  idea  we  won't  speak  of  it 
again." 

As  if  he  could  have  made  any  proposition  I  should  not 
have  liked ! 

"  I  have  two  nice  fellows  with  me  in  a  flat  on  the  Rue 
du  Bac.  My  mother  is  there,  too,  you  know.  We  want 
you  with  us.  I  like  the  life  on  this  side  of  the  river  better 
than  the  shallow,  half-English-French  existence  over  there, 
don't  you?  "  and  he  made  a  motion  toward  the  opposite 
riverbank. 

I  acquiesced  with  a  nod. 

"  An  American  friend,  Bruce  Stewart,  an  English  boy, 
my  mother,  and  I  live  there  with  the  housekeeper.  There's 
a  jolly  little  room  to  spare,  and  mother  said  she  would  be 
pleased  to  play  propriety." 

He  was  talking  rapidly  and  didn't  look  at  me.  I  was 
glad,  for  from  the  edge  of  my  hair  to  the  line  of  my  neck 
I  felt  a  telltale  flush. 

"  But  my  expenses  ?  "  I  hesitated. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  visit  I'm  talking  about."     He  laughed. 

For  a  moment  I  imagined  I  saw  in  his  face  a  divine  light 
resembling  that  which  had  for  a  tiny  second  rested  on 


144  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

the  picture  in  the  Louvre.  My  only  answer  lay  in  my 
brimming  eyes. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  he  said  pleadingly.  "  Do  believe  that 
I  am  partly  selfish.  Mother  and  I  were  speaking  of  it 
last  night,  and  we  want  you  to  come.  You  will  come, 
won't  you?  You  will?  Bravo!  What  jolly  times  we'll 
have!  And  we  have  a  piano  too,  and  if  it  isn't  in  tune 
we'll  have  someone  come  in  to  put  it  right.  Mayn't  I 
come  and  help  you  pack  up  ?  " 

My  heart  nearly  jumped  out  on  the  table.  "  No,  I 
don't  believe  you  can.  You  see,  I  have  a  roommate,  and 
she—" 

"Has  a  little  green  eyed  monster  in  her  eyes?"  asked 
Roger,  laughing. 

"  Something  like  it,"  I  replied  faintly. 

The  thought  of  Boulevard  St.  Michel  rolled  away  like 
Christian's  burden.  No  more  should  I  see  the  dark  faces 
that  had  grinned  at  me  through  the  shadows ;  no  more 
should  I  beg  the  filthy  vagabond-money  I  had  so  coveted. 

I  went  home  to  Zadie  and  woke  her  out  of  a  sound 
sleep. 

"  I'm  going  away,  Zadie,"  said  I,  "  and  I  shall  never 
come  back  here  again." 

"  To  America?  "  she  demanded. 

"  No ;  with  some  friends.  I  want  to  tell  you,  Dear,  how 
grateful  I  am  to  you  for  your  kindness  to  me.  Of 
course,  I  shall  see  you  very  soon." 

"And  you  say  you  not  come  back  here  —  to  me  —  to 
lif  ?  " 

"  No,  Zadie ;  for  when  I  have  finished  my  visit  I  shall 
do  something  else.  I  can't  come  back." 

This  woman,  on  the  shady  side  of  life,  and  her  tiny 
white  dog  were  the  only  creatures  associated  with  my 
boulevard  life  that  I  sorrowed  to  leave.  My  trunk  was 
packed  quickly,  and  before  the  falling  of  night  on  St. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  145 

Michel  I  was  gone.  As  I  left  the  house  I  met  Lady  Jane 
Grey  coming  in.  She  did  not  know  that  I  was  the  one 
woman  her  American  loved,  and  that  at  that  moment  I  was 
going  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHAT  a  dear,  cozy  little  apartment  this  is !     And 
I'm  warm  for  the  first  time  this  winter.     I'd 
rather  be  here  in  this  room  than  in  any  other 
spot  on  earth.     I  should  not  have  thought  it  possible  for 
any  girl  to  be  so  wildly  happy,  after  having  been  so  mis- 
erable.    I  want  to  know  what  it  is  to  live,  to  be  loved,  and, 
best  of  all,  I  want  to  know  what  it  is  to  love. 

Roger  came  in  and  helped  me  to  give  some  little  home- 
like touches  to  my  room.  He  brought  in  a  bowl  of 
Gloire  de  Dijon  roses. 

"  The  dear  things ! "  I  cried,  burying  my  nose  in  them. 

The  scent  of  the  roses  carried  me  back  to  our  old-fash- 
ioned garden  at  home,  and  to  Aunty  sitting  in  the  basket- 
chair  by  the  lavender  bushes.  I  was  still  thinking  of 
America  when  Roger,  speaking,  brought  me  back  to  the 
present. 

"  Mother  told  me  to  say  she  was  sorry  not  to  welcome 
you;  but  she'll  surely  be  here  by  dinner.  I've  told  the 
boys  you  were  coming ;  but  won't  they  be  surprised  when 
they  see  you?  You  know,  Phyllis,  I  intimated  to  them  that 
you  were  quite  sedate  and  said  that  I  really  didn't  know 
just  how  far  you  were  from  forty.  You  should  have 
seen  the  kid's  face  drop !  I  wouldn't  miss  seeing  him  meet 
you  for  anything  in  the  world."  He  was  polishing  my 
mirror  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  must  tell  you  about  the  boys.  Bruce  is  a  dear  chap 
—  American,  of  course.  He's  too  deucedly  handsome  to 
remain  unmarried;  although,  as  far  as  the  kid  and  I  can 
find  out,  he's  not  interested  in  anyone.  He's  a  lump  of 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  147 

theories,  too.  He  talks  by  the  hour  about  science, —  of 
Spencer,  Darwin,  and  others  who  don't  understand  one 
word  they're  talking  about.  And  what  do  you  think? 
Sometimes  he  swears  like  a  drunken  trooper ;  but  he's  aw- 
fully decent,  with  a  will  power  as  strong  as  steel. 

"  The  kid  is  Bruce's  parrot.  He's  twenty,  falls  in  love 
with  every  pretty  woman  he  sees,  and  is  a  bit  of  a  snob, 
too.  That  comes  from  studying  at  Eton.  He  ought  to 
be  at  Oxford  now ;  but  he's  to  do  a  year  in  Paris  first. 
I  believe  it's  his  father's  greatest  desire  that  his  son  should 
enter  the  diplomatic  service;  and  the  boy  ought  to  do  well 
with  the  money  and  influence  he's  got.  I'm  the  only 
orthodox  Christian  in  the  crowd.  I  tell  you  all  this  for  fear 
you'll  get  rather  frightened  at  our  conversations.  They're 
purely  theoretical."  He  laughed  a  little  embarrassedly. 
"  The  arguments  are  heated  sometimes,  though.  I  always 
make  it  a  point  to  challenge  Bruce,  and  then  the  little 
fellow  jumps  in.  It's  really  funny!  There!  Now  I  must 
run  away.  Doesn't  that  look  quite  like  home?  " 

He  viewed  the  dressing  table  with  pride,  and  left  me 
arranging  my  dresses  in  the  wardrobe. 

At  dinner  Roger  made  the  introductions, —  first  his 
mother,  so  fair  and  sweet,  then  a  big  man  who  looked 
me  through  with  a  golden  gleam.  I  became  dizzy  as  my 
mind  raced  away  to  that  dreadful  night  when  I  hung  half 
naked  in  a  Paris  theater.  Of  course,  I  had  seen  him ;  and 
his  eyes  have  golden  glints  in  them,  after  all.  What  a 
giant  he  is,  taller  than  Roger,  with  a  native  dignity  and 
compelling  personality  that  frighten  me  a  little.  I 
think  he  is  quite  the  best  looking  man  I  ever  saw;  and 
that's  not  depreciating  Roger,  either.  One  doesn't  always 
love  another  person  for  his  looks.  But  these  thoughts 
changed  as  Roger  went  on: 

"  And  this  is  Maxey  Donnithorne,  Miss  Fitzpatrick." 


148  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  cheeks,  flaming  hot  to  my  fore- 
head. The  moment  my  eyes  rested  on  the  boy's  face,  I 
harked  back  to  that  day  in  the  Place  de  la  Madeleine 
when  the  soldiers  forced  the  crowds  from  the  church  with 
their  bayonets.  The  spitted  priest  with  his  upraised,  un- 
fathomable gaze  shot  into  mind.  Again  the  cries  of  the 
hurt  and  enraged  mob  rang  in  my  ears.  I  shook  invol- 
untarily. The  fair  boy  with  seared  eyes  was  before  me, 
as  if  it  were  but  yesterday,  and  I  was  again  leading  him 
through  the  streets  to  my  home  —  and  to  Zadie,  his  mother. 

I  was  vaguely  answering  some  question  put  by  Mrs. 
Everard,  when  Maxey  broke  in: 

"  Do  you  know,  your  voice  seems  familiar  to  me,  Miss 
Fitzpatrick.  And  I  can't  make  out  where  I've  heard  it." 

"  There  are  lots  of  voices  that  sound  alike  in  this  world, 
Max,"  joked  Roger.  "Pass  up  your  plate  for  some 
ragout,  old  man." 

After  that  I  spoke  as  softly  as  I  could.  I  did  not  want 
Maxey  to  associate  me  with  —  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau. 

Bruce  Stewart,  after  his  first  keen  glance,  did  not  raise 
his  eyes  for  a  long  time.  Then  he  gave  a  long,  fixed  gaze 
that  stirred  my  floating  memories,  and  he  studied  my  face 
as  if  it  were  a  piece  of  crabbed  writing.  But  he  was  not 
the  only  one  guilty  of  looking  at  me;  for  I  caught 
Maxey's  furtive  glance,  and  when  I  looked  up  he  grew  red 
and  fidgeted  in  his  chair  until  after  Donna,  the  maid,  had 
brought  in  the  coffee.  I  left  the  room  once  to  get  my 
handkerchief,  and  heard  him  say : 

"  Roger,  you  nuisance,  why  didn't  you  tell  a  fellow  just 
how  she  looked?  It  isn't  playing  the  game !  " 

"There  was  nothing  unfair  about  it,  Maxey,"  Roger 
laughed. 

Mrs.  Everard  broke  in.  "  She  is  very  sweet  and  good, 
I'm  sure.  Women  are  a  great  help  in  this  world,  aren't 
they,  Roger?  " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  149 

"  Of  course,"  Roger  answered,  and  there  was  a  tone  of 
love  in  his  voice. 

I  know  that  I  shall  be  devoted  to  Mrs.  Everard.  After 
I  came  back,  they  ran  on  in  ordinary  conversation,  and  I 
ate  in  silence,  satisfied  to  be  there  with  him. 

"  Did  I  tell  you,  old  chap,"  asked  Max,  looking  at  Mr. 
Stewart,  "  that  my  governor  is  laid  up  with  the  gout, 
and  won't  be  able  to  get  over  here  next  week  as  he  hoped? 
He  hasn't  been  up  to  the  mark  ever  since  my  brother 
died." 

"  Lord  Donnithorne  felt  your  brother's  death  keenly, 
didn't  he,  Max?  "  asked  Bruce. 

Maxey's  eyes  grew  misty.  "  Yes  —  poor  old  Rupert !  " 
he  muttered.  "  He  was  the  only  one  of  us,  save  my  father, 
who  was  anything  but  a  rotter." 

"  But  Lord  Donnithorne  told  me  that  he  expected  you 
to  keep  up  the  family  traditions,  Max,"  Roger  inter- 
jected. 

"  So  he  does,  Roddy ;  but  the  truth  is  that  I  like  having 
a  good  time  too  much  to  bother  about  ambitions  like  Ru- 
pert." The  boy  turned  to  me  and  went  on,  "  You  see, 
my  brother  married  when  he  was  but  a  kiddy,  Miss  Fitz- 
patrick.  The  mater  stopped  the  thing  off  —  I've  heard 
the  girl  wasn't  up  to  much." 

"  The  girl  wasn't  up  to  much !  "  He  was  speaking  of 
Zadie,  the  best  of  all  good  women  in  the  world!  How 
did  her  story  measure  up  with  his?  The  solution  I  de- 
duced was  that  Lady  Donnithorne  had  hidden  her  son's  in- 
discretion by  claiming  Zadie's  child  as  hers. 

The  Boulevard  St.  Michel  has  taught  me  that  character 
is  more  than  blood ;  environment  more  than  family.  Maxey 
could  have  inherited  from  his  cocotte  mother  more  no- 
bility of  soul  than  could  have  been  transmitted  to  him 
by  generations  of  sheltered  dames.  My  dear,  generous 
Zadie!  Big  souled  woman  that  you  are!  How  little  you 


150  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

know  that  the  "  leetle  American  fool "  you  befriended  is 
in  the  same  house  with  jour  son ! 

As  Bruce '  and  Maxey  were  talking  together,  Roger 
turned  to  me  and  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"  I'm  going  to  take  you  to  my  studio  some  day,  Miss 
Fitzpatrick.  I'd  like  to  interest  you  in  a  picture  or  two 
I  have.  I  do  some  missionary  work,  too;  that  is,  I  try 
to.  Have  you  ever  been  to  the  American  Mission?  Well, 
you  must.  We've  done  a  lot  for  the  women  in  the  Latin 
Quarter." 

I  lowered  my  gaze,  and  Lady  Jane  flashed  into  my  mind. 
He  had  been  only  trying  to  help  her,  then.  What  a  good 
man  he  is !  In  upon  my  thoughts  his  voice  came  again. 

"  Life  is  all  so  wonderful,  and  I  can't  solve  many  of  its 
mysteries ! " 

His  tone  was  wistful,  and  his  thoughts  far  away  as  if 
he  saw  with  the  eyes  of  his  soul  the  thousands  of  weary 
women  who,  every  night  on  the  boulevards,  bartered  their 
souls  for  mere  necessities. 

After  we  had  finished  eating,  I  slipped  away  to  my 
room,  leaving  Roger  to  take  from  my  portfolio  the  songs 
he  wished  me  to  sing.  I  went  to  the  open  window,  that  the 
night  wind  might  cool  my  face,  leaning  far  above  the  al- 
most deserted  street.  A  woman  standing  in  the  shadow 
of  the  building  opposite  attracted  my  attention.  The 
dyed  gold  of  her  hair,  like  a  flame  in  darkness,  was  the  only 
thing  that  caught  the  lamplight.  The  next  moment  she 
had  singled  a  victim  and  was  walking  beside  him.  Yes- 
terday I  was  like  that  woman !  Tonight  —  protection  — 
music  —  warmth  —  and  him ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  first  thing  I  saw  when  I  went  into  the  breakfast 
room  this  morning  was  a  motto  on  the  wall  sus- 
pended from  a  red  ribbon.  "  Be  sure  your  sin  will 
find  you  out,"  it  read.  A  sudden  little  chill  ran  through 
my  body.  Roger  caught  my  eyes. 

"  That's  not  for  you,  Miss  Fitzpatrick,"  he  said,  with 
a  merry  laugh.  "  It's  for  Maxey.  He's  developed  a  ne- 
farious habit  of  pilfering  cake  from  the  cupboard.  You 
know,  Mother  is  the  famous  cake-maker  for  us  here.  Poor 
darling,  she's  ill  this  morning.  This  life  in  Paris  is  so 
different  from  hers !  Paris  and  Mother  are  as  far  apart 
as  the  two  poles." 

"  I  should  think  Utopia  was  the  only  place  for  your 
mother,"  said  Maxey  with  energy. 

*'  Utopia  is  the  home-country  of  all  mothers,"  said 
Bruce, — "  or  Heaven  —  call  it  what  you  like."  Then  he 
proceeded  with  a  little  laugh,  "  Miss  Fitzpatrick,  we  hung 
the  text  there  so  that  Maxey  could  see  it  every  time  he's 
tempted." 

Maxey  grinned  sheepishly,  and  met  this  accusation  by 
hurling  bread  pellets  at  his  tormentors.  During  the  battle 
I  regained  my  equilibrium.  For  an  instant  I  had  been 
haunted  by  the  ghost  of  St.  Michel.  It  stepped  out  of 
the  past  with  an  accusing  finger;  but  the  text  was  only 
for  Maxey  and  his  pilfering.  I  could  have  hugged  his 
curly  head  from  his  shoulders  if  I'd  been  given  the  chance. 
Yet,  somehow,  my  appetite  forsook  me,  and  I  left  the 
table  without  eating  much.  Roger  noticed  it,  and  remon- 
strated with  me. 


151 


152  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Maxey's  motto  has  assumed  a  baneful  meaning  for  me. 
In  spite  of  Roger,  in  spite  of  everything,  I  long  to  tear 
it  down.  It  is  so  like  an  evil  omen  that  I  have  a  supersti- 
tious dread  of  letting  my  eyes  rest  upon  it.  Sometimes 
an  unreasoning  fear  that  my  own  deception  and  sin  will 
find  me  out  darkly  overcasts  the  dreams  of  my  future. 

The  misgivings  about  those  anxious  days  have  driven 
me  time  and  time  again  to  the  church,  that  I  might  kneel 
in  supplication  and  repentance  before  the  Mother  of  Sor- 
rows. 

Today,  when  I  was  leaving  the  altar  at  Notre  Dame, 
a  priest  touched  me  on  the  arm.  I  turned  and  scanned 
the  splendid  son  of  the  Church  in  admiration.  A  little  cap, 
failing  to  confine  the  raven  hair  that  clustered  in  rings 
high  upon  his  intellectual  brow,  rested  upon  his  head. 
Two  piercing  eyes,  filled  with  physical  magnetism,  be- 
trayed a  virile  temperament  that  even  the  vestments  of  the 
church  had  not  extinguished. 

"  You  come  often,"  said  he.  "  I've  watched  Made- 
moiselle grow  from  an  unbeliever  into  a  devotee  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  praise  her  Holy  Name !  " 

He  spoke  in  perfect  English  and  with  religious  enthu- 
siasm, and  involuntarily  crossed  himself.  I,  likewise, 
touched  my  forehead  with  my  fingers. 

"  Yes,  I  am  almost  a  convert,"  I  answered  slowly. 

He  smiled.     "  Has  Mademoiselle  a  confessor?  " 

"  No.     I'm  not  a  member  of  your  Church." 

"  But  why,  Mademoiselle?  " 

"  Well  —  there  are  some  things  I  could  not  give  up  even 
for  religion." 

He  walked  beside  me  to  the  door  where  a  Sister  of  Char- 
ity held  out  her  hand  pleadingly  for  the  sou  that  I  never 
failed  to  give. 

"  Some  outsiders,"  exclaimed  the  priest,  "  are  of  the 
opinion  that  the  Church  orders  more  from  her  children 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  153 

than  they  are  able  to  perform.  The  conscience  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  Church.  Obey  her  law,  and  penance  is 
unnecessary." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  understand  her  law,"  I  said. 

We  halted  when  we  reached  the  pavement.  My  eyes 
roved  back  over  the  magnificent,  sacred  structure,  taking 
in  the  sculptured  Satan  tugging  at  a  long  line  of  sinners. 
Then  my  glance  followed  the  priest's  upward  gaze  to  a 
group  far  above,  representing  Adam  and  Eve  in  the  Gar- 
den of  Eden.  The  Tree  of  Knowledge  bloomed  between 
them ;  a  creature  with  a  woman's  head  and  a  serpent's 
body  swung  in  twisted  contortions  from  its  branches. 
This  half-woman,  half-snake,  was  offering  the  proverbial 
apple  to  the  hesitant  Eve. 

The  priest  turned  to  me.  "  That  is  the  problem  of  life," 
said  he,  after  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  representation 
of  the  tragic  deception,  "  the  tempting  of  the  woman 
planned  for  the  destruction  of  the  man.  Men  and  women 
will  eat  of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  until  the  end  of  time. 
Christ  alone  has  alleviated  the  punishment  for  man's  pre- 
sumption in  partaking  of  the  forbidden  fruit." 

The  trembling  contraction  of  his  lips  on  this  last  state- 
ment mellowed  the  rich  voice,  sending  it  sobbing  into 
his  throat,  and  his  fingers  ran  over  the  rosary  as  if  the 
touch  of  the  beads  imparted  a  mysterious  strength  of  soul. 

For  a  moment  my  heart  beat  loudly.  A  liquid  fire 
rushed  through  my  veins  to  my  fingertips,  and  I  held  my 
breath.  It  was  a  new  thought  to  me.  Adam  and  Eve! 
Man  and  Woman  —  and  temptation  between  them!  Was 
love,  then,  the  apple  of  the  serpent?  If  so,  I  too  longed 
to  eat  of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge ;  for  only  a  few  hours  be- 
fore I  had  discovered  in  Roger's  eyes  a  something  that 
drew  me  almost  unresistingly  to  him.  The  Tree  of  Good 
and  Evil  had  spread  its  fruit-laden  branches  over  me! 
The  priest  addressed  me  again,  and  handed  me  a  card. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  If  you,  Mademoiselle,  desire  divine  instruction,  will  you 
come  to  my  home?  " 

I  told  him  that  I  would  gladly  avail  myself  of  his  prof- 
fer, and  took  leave  of  him.  Looking  backward,  I  saw  him 
gazing  after  me.  I  wondered  if  he  were  happy  in  his 
chosen  calling.  He  was  forced  by  his  conscience  and 
priestly  vows  to  live  without  loving.  To  love  and  to  be 
loved  was,  to  me  at  that  moment,  more  desirable  than 
Heaven  itself. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  • 

A  whole  month  has  gone  by,  and  I  haven't  had  the  in- 
clination to  open  this  book.  I  am  still  in  Roger's  home; 
for  Mrs.  Everard  would  not  hear  my  protestations  that  my 
visit  had  lasted  too  long. 

Two  days  after  my  chance  interview  with  the  priest, 
something  happened  that  wrought  a  change  in  me  that 
even  the  dark  boulevards  had  been  unable  to  accomplish. 
I  scarcely  know  how  to  write  about  it,  and  if  Mrs.  Everard 
had  not  been  spending  the  day  with  a  friend  the  oppor- 
tunity would  never  have  been  given  me  to  make  this  —  this 
confession. 

I  had  had  an  hour  with  Marquise  in  the  afternoon,  and 
upon  my  arrival  home  I  met  Roger  at  the  lift  entrance, 
and  we  ascended  together. 

"  I  believe  you  are  happy  here,"  he  said,  with  a  smile, 
helping  me  to  take  off  my  wraps. 

The  youth  within  me  bounded  lightly  and  joyfully  when 
his  fingers  touched  my  arm.  I  raised  my  eyes  to  his ;  but 
withdrew  my  gaze  quickly,  and  a  tingling  flush  dyed  my 
face  and  neck  at  the  sight  of  his  sudden  emotion. 

"  Happy,"  I  breathed,  "  happy !  I  have  never  been  so 
exquisitely  happy  in  all  my  life." 

"  Phyllis,"  he  said  in  an  uncertain  voice,  "  and  I  never 
lived  until  you  came.  You  have  changed  the  whole  of  the 
world  for  me." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  155 

I  trembled,  and  could  neither  voluntarily  move  nor  speak 
lo  answer  him. 

"  Oh,  Darling  —  Darling !  "  and,  almost  simultaneously 
with  his  words,  I  was  receiving  the  sacrament  of  my  lover's 
first  kiss. 

I  In  Boulevard  St.  Michel  I  had  known  physical  hun- 
ger; but  the  unsated  hunger  of  the  heart  is  more  excru- 
ciating and  unbearable  than  even  prolonged  bodily 
hunger, —  its  maddening,  insistent  demand  against  the 
spirit-portals  drives  one's  mind  to  distraction.  Roger's 
kiss  was  ambrosia  to  my  soul,  enthralling  my  inner  self 
with  drowsy  imaginings.  As  the  tide  seethes  seaward  to 
gather  new  impetus,  so,  during  a  confused,  fantastic 
dream,  my  girlhood  rushed  into  womanhood. 

"  You're  so  alive !  "  Roger  whispered.  "  I  could  —  I 
could  crush  you ! "  He  caressed  my  hair  and  my  eyes 
and  my  lips.  "  My  sweet,  my  sweet ! "  he  murmured 
hoarsely. 

"  Roger !  Roger !  Never  kiss  me  —  like  that  —  again ! 
You  mustn't !  You  mustn't !  " 

I  remember  breaking  from  his  kisses. 

Two  hours  later  Maxey's  boyish  voice  drifted  into  my 
room,  and  roused  me  from  my  chaotic  abandonment  of 
delightful  thought. 


Roger's  mother  was  ill  in  bed,  poor  dear!  and  conse- 
quently was  not  present  that  Saturday  evening  at  dinner 
when  a  great  discussion  took  place  among  Roger,  Maxey, 
and  Bruce  Stewart.  I  was  too  depressed  to  eat,  and 
during  the  first  two  courses  Roger  meditated  moodily  in 
silence. 

At  last  he  roused  himself.  "  I  suppose  you  fellows  are 
going  to  roam  about  again  tonight?  " 

"  Yes,"  remarked  Bruce.     "  Paris  begins  to  live  only 


156  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

in  the  evening,  and  on  till  two  or  thereabouts.     And  what 
an  amusing,  bizarre  life  it  is !  " 

"  I  don't  look  upon  it  that  way,"  Roger  observed.  "  It 
seems  to  me  a  whirligig  of  tormented  souls  without  rest, 
without  hope." 

The  images  of  the  chained  sinners  carved  on  Notre 
Dame  floated  before  me. 

"  After  all,  like  ourselves,  the  owners  of  those  souls  are 
working  out  their  own  salvation,"  Bruce  commented,  turn- 
ing to  include  me  hi  his  explanation.  "  Life  is  an  im- 
mense kindergarten,  a  school  in  which  there  are  a  thou- 
sand standards.  When  a  soul  needs  quick  progression, 
Miss  Fitzpatrick,  its  experience  is  violent  and  terrible. 
The  lowest  person  in  the  world  may  be  nearer  his  final 
evolution  than  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  What  are 
called  sins  are  but  experiences  needed  by  graduating 
souls." 

The  significance  of  his  gaze  almost  forced  me  to  be- 
lieve that  he  knew  of  the  link  that  affiliated  me  with  the 
half-world  of  Paris. 

"Standard!"  ejaculated  Roger,  ignoring  the  latter 
part  of  B  race's  emphatic  statement.  "  Standard !  The 
only  standard  in  the  world  is  the  Cross  of  Christ ! " 

For  one  instant  Bruce  studied  Roger's  face  contem- 
platively. "  If  that's  really  your  belief,  Everard,"  said 
he,  "  then  that  faith  in  Christ  is  what  your  soul  needs  to 
graduate." 

"I  think  Brace's  theory   is  jolly  sensible,"   broke   in 
.Maxey  earnestly;  "  for  it  does  away  with  the  injustice  of 
God." 

Roger  swept  the  boy  with  quizzical  query ;  but  turned 
to  Bruce  in  warning.  "  Stewart,  you  may  not  believe  it 
now,  but  one  day  you'll  admit  that  there's  no  truth  save 
in  the  Bible,  and  no  word  but  God's,  and  there  is  a  com- 
mand for  all  the  Elect  to  live  apart  from  sinners." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  157 

My  face  went  red,  my  cheeks  burned  hot.  For  a  flit- 
ting instant  Roger  seemed  arrogantly  detestable. 

"  And  you,  old  man,"  replied  Bruce  softly,  "  will  learn 
that  there's  no  Eternal  Power,  sacrificial  or  otherwise,  that 
has  decreed  an  enmity  between  any  of  God's  creatures. 
We  humans  make  our  lives  as  we  will.  Love  is  the  great 
ruling  power  of  the  universe !  God  —  or  Good,  as  you 
like  —  gives  every  man  his  desire.  If  you  think  poverty, 
poverty  will  come;  think  happiness,  and  it's  yours.  But 
it's  all  good,  though,  everything,  everybody.  It  just  needs 
working  out,  that's  all." 

As  he  spoke,  I  looked  directly  at  him.  Everything 
good,  everybody  good !  No  more  sacrifices,  no  more 
bloodshed !  What  a  beautiful  thought !  Bruce  Stewart 
lifted  his  eyes  to  me  with  a  smile  and  went  on: 

"  The  principle  of  home-building  and  food-finding,  Miss 
Fitzpatrick,  has  done  more  to  civilize  the  human  race  than 
the  numberless  books  written  upon  the  idea  of  Christ  and 
His  Cross.  The  religious  instinct  is  secondary  to  the 
self-preserving  and  other  instincts.  The  whole  of  civi- 
lization is  based  upon  these  principles.  They  have  been 
the  whips  that  have  lashed  humanity  forward.'* 

How  noble  and  beautiful  he  was  !  Roger's  noncommittal 
silence  caused  Bruce  to  rise  good  humoredly  to  his  feet. 

"  Come  along,  Max :  we  ought  to  start  at  once.  We 
mustn't  bore  Miss  Fitzpatrick  with  our  arguments." 

Roger  and  I  were  alone  at  last.  He  made  no  move- 
ment to  take  me  in  his  arms ;  but  drew  me,  reluctant,  into 
the  drawing-room. 

"  Shall  we  go  to  a  theater,  Phyllis  ? "  he  suggested 
hoarsely. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Will  you  go  out  for  a  walk  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  —  sing  for  me." 


158  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

He  bent  over  my  portfolio  with  a  determined  gesture. 

I  seated  myself  at  the  piano  and  allowed  him  to  place 
a  song  before  me.  In  so  doing,  his  hand  touched  me, 
and  I  caught  at  it  faint  and  dizzy  and  unnerved.  His 
arms  fell  about  me,  and  he  dropped  his  lips  upon  mine. 
Subdued  passionate  tones  murmured  my  name  endearingly, 
and  his  breath  flooded  hot  over  my  eyes.  A  wicked  fever 
tore  through  my  veins,  destroying  and  eating  up  every 
moral  sense. 

I  felt  myself  lifted,  wrapped  in  his  arms,  and  his  lips, 
perfumed  with  health  and  love,  roved  over  my  face  in  sweet 
freedom.  God's  Nectar  ran  through  my  veins  —  my  blood 
was  transmuted  by  a  fairy  godmother  of  love  and  life  into 
a  livid  fluid  of  happiness,  and  —  and  with  him  I  lost  my- 
self in  ecstasy. 

It  must  have  been  two  hours  later  when  Mrs.  Everard's 
bell  summoned  me  to  her  chamber. 

"  Were  you  and  Roger  both  in  the  drawing-room  ?  "  she 
asked  faintly. 

The  muscles  in  my  forehead  and  cheeks  twitched  nerv- 
ously, making  me  conscious  of  awkwardness  and  con- 
fusion in  the  presence  of  Roger's  mother.  I  tugged  at 
my  high  blouse-collar,  to  ease  the  heavy  throbbing  in  my 
throat,  feeling  limply  grateful  for  the  protecting  dull 
green  shade  of  the  night-lamp.  In  spite  of  my  attempts 
to  answer  her  question  naturally,  I  could  only  utter  a 
harsh,  inflected  "  Yes." 

"  Why  haven't  you  been  singing,  Phyllis  ?  "  Mrs.  Ever- 
ard  paused,  and  added  almost  fretfully,  "  I  wish  you 
would  sing,  Dear." 

Sing!  I  couldn't  have  sung  for  anyone  in  the  world 
just  then  —  not  just  then! 

"  I  wish  you  would  give  me  a  drink  of  water,"  she  broke 
in  on  my  thoughts. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  159 

She  had  already  forgotten  her  request  that  I  should 
sing.  In  relief  I  hurriedly  lifted  the  glass  and  held  it  to 
her  lips. 

"  You  are  trembling,  Child  —  are  you  ill?  " 

"No  — not  ill  — but  I  think  I'll  go  to  bed." 

"  Do,  Phyllis  dear.  You  stay  up  too  late.  You  should 
retire  earlier." 

I  drew  the  covering  about  her  shoulders  and  kissed  her 
tremblingly. 

"  Phyllis,  my  Roger  is  the  best  man  in  all  the  world ! 
Isn't  he?  " 

"  The  very  best ! "  I  moaned,  and  went  out,  closing  the 
door. 

The  trembling  that  had  hastened  my  retreat  from  Mrs. 
Everard  made  my  feet  lag  in  my  approach  to  Roger. 
Yet  it  seemed  that  my  whole  future  welfare  lay  in  getting 
back  into  his  arms. 

His  white  face  increased  my  agitation,  and  the  inten- 
sity with  which  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  the  spontaneous 
throwing  out  of  his  hands,  held  my  halting,  upward 
glance. 

The  self-reproach  in  his  eyes  swept  my  embarrassment 
from  me  as  if  it  had  been  washed  away  by  a  tidal  wave. 

I  stood  on  tiptoe  and  unblushingly  challenged  his  re- 
pentance. "  Roger,  Roger,  dear  love,  I  shall  remember  — 
this  night  as  long  as  I  live !  " 

His  face  fell  into  his  hands,  and  bitter  tears  rained 
through  his  fingers. 

"  But,"  I  continued  hoarsely,  "  I  will  work  as  you  have 
never  seen  a  woman  work.  Are  you  listening,  Roger? 
I  will  make  myself  as  great  as  even  you  wish  me  to  be ! 
You  can  ask  me  nothing  that  I  will  not  do ! " 

In  passionate  gesture  he  crushed  my  face  against  his 
breast.  "  Phyllis !  Phyllis !  Beloved !  " 


160  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

I've  been  to  see  Zadie !  The  darling  dear !  But  —  but 
I  didn't  tell  her  anything  about  —  Roger  and  me ! 

"  Child,"  exclaimed  Marquise  one  morning,  "  your  voice 
is  so  much  improved!  Something  has  changed  you. 
You  know,  my  dear,  we  who  want  to  be  artists  must  suffer 
like  the  singing  birds  in  Italy,  whose  owners  pierce  their 
eyes  with  redhot  needles  to  put  sympatica  into  their  tones." 

It's  true  I  have  suffered,  and  to  relive  it  acutely  I 
have  but  to  sit  in  the  gathering  twilight,  to  listen  to  the 
sobbing  of  the  wind  in  the  corner  of  the  room  or  to  the 
steady  patter  of  the  rain  upon  the  roof.  Formerly,  these 
meant  romance  to  me ;  but  now  they  savor  only  of  the  Latin 
Quarter  and  fill  the  nostrils  of  my  imagination  with  the 
nauseating  stench  of  patchouli. 

As  the  ancient  God  once  stroked  into  permanence  the 
three  dark  stripes  on  the  back  of  the  chipmunk,  so  the 
agony  of  my  struggle  has  marked  me  with  secretiveness, 
suspicion,  and  disquietude. 

Day  has  an  unprecedented  meaning  for  me, —  a  brighter, 
bigger,  holier  significance  than  heretofore.  I  am  a  verit- 
able woman  of  the  sun,  of  the  hours  when  good  people  are 
abroad,  and  I  go  into  the  light  loving  every  little  ray  of 
sunshine;  although  when  I  am  in  the  street  with  Roger  I 
am  menaced  with  fear  that  I  may  meet  some  of  the  women 
I  have  known.  The  idea  overwhelms  me,  and  brings  Lady 
Jane  Grey,  with  her  snakelike  movements,  vividly  to  my 
mind.  But  Lady  Jane  Grey  is  a  woman  of  the  night, — 
she  sleeps  with  the  other  wanderers  of  the  boulevards. 
But —  What  a  slender  thread  my  security  hangs  on! 

•  •••••*• 

A  letter  has  been  forwarded  from  Casperone.  I 
imagined  that  I  could  see  in  Roger's  eyes  a  desire  to  know 
something  about  it;  but  I  laid  it  disinterestedly  beside  my 
plate,  and  afterward  in  my  room  I  opened  it  and  read : 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  161 

How  dared  you  leave  me  sitting  in  the  Louvre  like  a  fool? 
I  waited  for  at  least  half  an  hour,  before  I  asked  the  guide 
where  you  had  gone.  You  pretend  to  be  so  upright  and  good ; 
but  next  time  I  shall  know  how  far  to  trust  you.  But  I  will 
gladly  forgive  you,  Phyllis,  if  you  will  come  to  me  at  the 
above  address,  where  I  have  prepared  a  room  for  you.  Phyllis 
dear,  come !  I  want  you  —  I  need  you !  I  shall  wait  for  you 
you  this  evening.  Send  your  trunk  on  ahead,  and  the  maid 
will  have  everything  in  order  for  you. 

P.  S.     I  have  seen  Lady  Jane  Grey. 

The  paper  dropped  from  my  fingers.  First  I  laughed, 
then  I  caught  my  breath  with  fright,  calling  to  mind  the 
postscript  which,  when  I  read  it,  had  impressed  me  least 
of  all.  I  snatched  up  the  letter  and  whispered: 

"  I  have  seen  Lady  Jane  Grey !  '* 

Lady  Jane  Grey  and  Casperone!  The  letter  once  more 
fluttered  to  the  table.  Would  they  dare  to  use  their 
knowledge  to  separate  me  from  Roger?  In  his  desire  for 
me,  Casperone  would  overthrow  my  happiness. 

Those  last  six  words,  "  I  have  seen  Lady  Jane  Grey,'* 
stood  out  with  sinister  aspect.  The  beautiful  cocotte  had 
told  Larodi  of  my  past,  and  he  would  — 

Rampant  with  fury,  I  tore  up  the  letter  and  threw  it 
violently  from  me. 

I'm  gathering  courage  to  tell  Roger  all  the  miserable* 
tale  of  my  life  on  the  boulevards.  When  he  knows  how 
I  strove  to  find  work,  how  I  almost  died  from  frost  and 
hunger,  he'll  take  me  in  his  arms ;  and,  after  I  have  told 
him,  I  shall  be  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THAT  was  two  whole  months  ago.  I  shouldn't  lose 
one  day,  one  hour,  of  that  time,  although  there  have 
been  ages  of  overwhelming  sorrow,  even  terror! 
Roger's  apparent  remorse  has  kept  me  at  times  in  a  tumult 
of  suspense.  But  I  try  not  to  repent.  I  won't  allow 
certain  thoughts  to  come  into  my  mind.  I  won't  1  I 
won't!  I  just  sing,  work,  and  live  for  him. 

Yesterday  he  was  silent  during  dinner,  and  a  harassed 
expression  settled  about  his  lips.  Afterward,  when  we 
were  alone  together  and  I  was  sitting  at  the  piano,  he 
startled  me  v,  kh  a  question : 

"Phyllis,  where  are  you  and  I  drifting?  Will  you  tell 
me  that?  " 

He  asked  me  this  so  suddenly  that  my  hands  came  down 
on  the  keys  with  a  crash. 

"Drifting?"  I  repeated.  "We're  not  drifting. 
We're  living  —  that's  all !  " 

He  paused  in  his  restless  march  up  and  down  the  room 
and  dropped  heavily  into  a  chair.  I  slipped  from  the  stool 
and  sank  at  his  feet.  The  majesty  of  a  great  passion 
that  had  colored  each  day  and  rose-tinted  my  dreams  was 
upon  me.  His  fingers  roved  abstractedly  in  my  hair. 

"  Roger,"  I  went  on  dreamily,  "  I  think  that  the  God- 
head with  Its  attributes  of  the  male  and  female  must  be 
instinct  with  the  same  kind  of  love  we  have,  you  and  I, — 
that  one  great  passion  given  to  all  living  creatures  by  the 
God  who  created  us." 

Roger  straightened  his  shoulders.  "What's  that  you 
say,  Phyllis?  " 

162 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  163 

"  I  believe  that  God  gave  us  our  love ;  that  He  made  us 
with  natures  attuned  to  each  other,  so  that  we  might  be 
able  to  reach  the  heights  that  He  Himself  has  reached; 
that  the  millions  of  worlds  were  created  just  with  such 
love  as  dominates  you  and  me.  It's  all  within  God  and 
of  God.  It's  all  very  good !  " 

My  head  fell  against  his  knee,  and  I  was  silent.  I  didn't 
remember  then  that  I  had  quoted  Bruce's  words.  Of 
course  Bruce  didn't  mean,  when  he  said  "  Everything  is 
good,"  just  what  I  did.  I  hate  even  to  write  it;  but 
somehow  I  believe  Bruce  Stewart  is  better  than  Roger  — 
I  mean  in  a  big,  big  way.  As  for  myself,  I  may  argue 
differently ;  but  I  know  all  the  time  that  I'm  the  wickedest 
girl  in  the  whole  wide  world. 

"  Phyllis,  that's  desecration ! "  Roger  exclaimed  pres- 
ently. 

"  I  say  we  are  not  drifting ! "  I  continued,  rousing  my- 
self again.  "  We  both  work,  don't  we  ?  We  have  our 
studies,  and  we  have  our  ambitions,  and  —  we  know  what 
our  future  is  to  be  —  don't  we,  Roger?  " 

I  was  thinking  of  that  not  far  distant  day  when  we 
should  marry. 

"  But  we've  been  such  sinners !  "  he  said. 

"  No,  we're  not  wicked !  "  I  exclaimed,  with  rising  tears. 
"  We  didn't  make  ourselves !  We  have  each  other  — 
that's  all  we  need.  I  won't  be  scolded!  I  won't!  Do 
you  see  ?  There !  There !  Kiss  —  me ! " 

I  mumbled  the  end  of  the  sentence  with  my  lips  crushed 
upon  his,  my  arms  locked  about  his  neck. 

"  My  own  darling ! "  he  breathed,  as  he  held  me  close 
to  him  —  and  lectured  me  no  more. 

*••••••• 

But  I'm  not  quite  so  happy  as  I  was.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  forgetting;  no  time  when  happiness  and  un- 
happiness  do  not  alternately  rise  before  me,  as  the  shades 


164  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

of  midnight  creep  out  with  the  small  hours.  There's  a 
cloud  in  my  sky  no  larger  than  a  man's  hand  —  yet  it  is 
there.  I  would  gladly  brush  it  away;  but  I  cannot.  It 
haunts  my  waking  hours,  and  darkens  my  dreams;  it 
makes  me  restless  and  apprehensive.  Sometimes  when 
moodiness  gets  into  Roger's  eyes  I  cover  them  with  kisses 
until  he  smiles  at  my  impetuousness. 

.....••• 

Today  is  Sunday,  and,  as  we  were  coming  back  from 
the  English  church,  Roger's  face  was  sterner  than  usual. 

"  I  feel  a  hypocrite,  Phyllis,"  he  burst  out,  "  a  traitor 
to  my  own  principles.  I  feel  the  anger  of  God  heavy  on 
my  soul.  What  you  said  the  other  day  is  sophistry  — 
nothing  but  sophistry !  How  could  you  compare  God's 
love  for  creation  with  that  of  His  creature's  for  each 
other?  Do  you  put  the  Creator  of  the  worlds  on  a  level 
with  beasts,  Phyllis  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied  quickly.  "  I  couldn't  make  Him  an 
eating  and  drinking  God  —  that's  all  that  makes  men, 
women,  and  animals  earthly.  But  I  believe  His  spirit  is 
in  everything, —  men,  beasts,  flowers,  and  all, —  and  I 
thank  Him  for  the  power  He  has  given  you  and  me  to 
love,  which  is  and  must  be  the  God  within  us." 

"  Phyllis,  please  don't  try  to  satisfy  your  conscience  in 
that  way.  It's  dangerous  ground  upon  which  you  stand. 
It  seems  to  me  that  you  must  have  had  a  very  queer  edu- 
cation." 

"  I  was  brought  up  in  your  Church,"  I  answered  bluntly ; 
"  although  I  do  not,  and  cannot,  accept  it  all.  I  won't 
allow  anyone  to  say  my  love  for  you  is  wicked!  I  know 
it's  not ! " 

"Where  did  you  get  your  ideas,  Phyllis?  I  never 
heard  such  sentiments  expressed  in  all  my  life!  You 
would  grant  forgiveness  without  repentance,  would  make 
right  out  of  wrong!  You  would  turn  the  world  upside 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  G1UNS  165 

down,  make  strong  institutions  weak,  and  lower  the  stand- 
ard of  manhood  and  womanhood!  It's  all  wrong — • 
wrong,  I  say !  " 

I  turned  squarely  upon  him.  "  I  can't  see  it,  Roger. 
You  love  me,  don't  you  ?  And  I  love  you !  I  have  my 
ambitions,  and  you  have  yours.  You  say  that  God  made 
my  singing  voice,  your  brain,  your  talent.  Then  you 
argue  that  the  Evil  One  is  responsible  for  the  love  that  is 
within  us.  It  is  that  power  in  human  beings  that  is  re- 
lated to  the  Creator, —  love,  just  love!" 

"You're  too  young,  Dear,  to  juggle  with  the  problems 
of  the  Almighty,"  he  returned  with  finality. 

When  we're  married  —  and  of  course  he'll  ask  me  soon 
—  Roger  will  be  happier. 

We  reached  home,  and  met  Maxey  and  Bruce  coming  in 
from  the  opposite  direction. 

Mrs.  Everard  was  really  too  weak  to  go  out  today,  and 
remained  in  her  bed  until  noon.  Donna  had  gone  to  do 
the  marketing,  and  I  was  alone  polishing  the  back  of  my 
silver  brush,  when  Maxey  opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 

"  Oh,  you  dear  boy,  to  come  home  when  I  was  feeling 
so  lonely !  "  I  cried,  as  he  flung  himself  down.  "  What's 
made  you  forsake  Bruce  this  morning?  " 

He  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  "  I  wanted  to  see 
you,"  he  said  slowly. 

"  That's  nice,"  I  replied.  "  Then  you  can  help  me  by 
rubbing  this  stain  from  my  brush." 

"  Oh,  Phyllis  —  I  wish  you  always  wouldn't  treat  me  as 
if  I  were  a  child !  I'm  an  ass ;  but  I'm  not  a  kid !  I'm 
older  than  you  are,  remember." 

"Why,  Maxey!"  I  laughed.  "You'll  be  telling  me 
that  you're  going  to  get  married  next." 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  I?  Oh,  I  don't  believe  a  word 
of  the  nonsense  that  ft  chap  shouldn't  marry  young ! " 


166  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Goodness  me !  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you're 
engaged  ?  " 

"  There's  only  one  woman  that  I  want  to  marry.  Phyl- 
lis, I  love  you  so  much  —  I  —  want  to  marry  you!  I 
must  marry  you,  I  tell  you ! " 

He  was  deadly  earnest  now,  and  I  got  to  my  feet 
quickly,  dropping  the  brush  on  the  table. 

"  Maxey,  have  you  taken  leave  of  your  senses  ?  Have 
you  completely  lost  your  mind?  " 

"  Oh,  you  think  that  just  because  I  have  talked  rot 
with  the  boys  ever  since  you've  been  here.  But  I  was 
only  gassing,  Phyllis.  I  will  give  you  my  solemn  oath 
upon  that!"  His  voice  choked.  "I'd  — I'd  — I'd 
rather  have  you  —  love  me  —  than  be  the  greatest  philos- 
opher in  all  Europe ! " 

Tears  stood  in  his  blue  eyes.  The  mingling  emotions 
that  surged  through  me  at  the  boy's  avowal  made  me  blush 
and  blanch. 

"  I've  loved  you  ever  since  you  came  here,  Phyllis,  and 
you're  the  best  girl  in  the  world ! " 

I  shouldn't  have  marveled  at  Maxey's  tribute  to  my 
goodness  if  he  had  paid  it  at  the  time  I  left  Boulevard 
St.  Michel  to  come  here ;  but  I've  changed  since  then,  and 
I'm  no  longer  a  girl.  And  Roger  has  wrought  the 
change!  It  was  a  woman  that  he  accused  of  sophistry, 
and  in  my  better  self  I  know  my  argument  was  sophistry. 
I  was  arguing  for  my  happiness,  and  to  make  him  less 
remorseful.  And  it  is  the  woman  in  me  who,  through  love 
for  him  and  for  his  love,  would  turn  traitress,  and  sacrifice 
every  principle.  Roger  had  said  we  had  been  drifting, — 
drifting  because  I  had  given  him  the  most  that  one  human 
soul  could  yield  to  another.  Well,  we  shouldn't  be  wicked 
if  he'd  ask  me  to  marry  him. 

Maxey's  coaxing,  babyish  voice  drifted  to  me  devoid  of 
meaning;  but  suddenly  his  words  caught  my  attention. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  167 

"  Phyllis,  it's  only  right  that  I  should  love  you.  The 
other  fellows  are  too  old." 

Roger  old!  With  his  magnificent  physique,  his 
strength,  his  superb  vitality !  And  Bruce,  too,  I  thought  of 
his  giant  body,  and  wondered  at  the  boy's  remark.  With 
a  motion  of  my  hand  I  silenced  Maxey's  torrent  of  words. 

"  Hush,  hush !  You  mustn't  speak  to  me  of  marriage. 
I  do  not  love  you.  You're  too  young  to  think  of  being 
married.  You  have  a  career  to  make,  and  so  have  I." 

"  I  know  no  end  of  fellows  the  same  age  as  I  am,  who've 
made  great  names  for  themselves  after  they've  married," 
he  stammered  out  bravely,  winking  back  the  tears.  "  I 
wasn't  asking  you  to  marry  me  right  away,  Phyllis:  I 
just  want  to  know  that  you  are  mine,  that's  all.  There's 
no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  go  on  with  your  singing, — 
there's  nothing  like  real  love  to  make  people  do  big 
things." 

If  such  were  the  case,  I  ought  to  be  able  to  move  a 
mountain  under  the  influence  of  my  love  for  Roger  Ever- 
ard.  It  rushed  upon  me  that  he  had  never  breathed  a 
word  of  marriage.  He  had  only  asked  me  whither  we 
were  drifting.  The  cloud  in  my  sky  had  suddenly  broad- 
ened to  such  proportions  that  I  feared  it  would  envelop 
the  brightness  of  my  life.  Was  a  sword  keener  than  that 
of  Damocles  hanging  over  my  head? 

"  The  first  impulse  of  a  fellow  who  isn't  a  cad,"  Maxey 
continued,  as  if  he  had  been  influenced  by  my  thoughts, 
"  is  to  ask  a  girl  to  marry  him  when  he  loves  her  in  the 
right  sort  of  way.  Will  you  think  about  it,  Phyllis  ?  " 

"  No ! "  I  replied  sharply ;  for  his  words  hurt  me  so ! 
"  No,  Maxey !  Can't  you  see  that  I  don't  love  you  ?  " 

"  But  you  might  if  you  tried,"  he  insisted  miserably. 

My  mind  caught  at  a  thought  compelling  my  imagina- 
tion to  picture  a  horror  of  which  I  had  not  dreamed.  If 
Roger  were  to  tell  me  that  he  did  not  love  me,  my  pain 


168  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

would  be  a  thousand  times  greater  than  Maxey's.  Roger 
was  my  husband  without  the  rights  of  the  law!  He  was 
my  mate  with  or  without  the  sanction  of  Heaven !  Why 
had  he  let  Maxey  be  the  first  one  to  speak  of  marriage  to 
me?  The  boy's  words  echoed  through  my  brain.  A  man 
who  truly  loves  a  woman  asks  her  to  marry  him  the  very 
first  thing!  Roger  had  not! 

"  I  couldn't  love  you,  Maxey ;  for  I  love  someone  else," 
I  murmured. 

He  rose  quickly.     "  It  isn't  — "  he  began  agitatedly. 

"  It's  no  one  you  know,"  I  interrupted,  fearing  that  he 
would  pounce  upon  Roger's  name. 

"  Some  —  one  —  in  —  America?  "  he  managed  to 
stammer  out. 

"  Yes,  someone  in  America." 

Maxey  went  out,  closing  the  door  softly  behind  him. 
He  must  have  seen  my  distress ;  but  thought  in  his  boyish 
delicacy  that  he  had  not  the  right  to  soothe  me. 

When  Roger  came  in  he  found  a  forlorn,  red-eyed  girl. 
I  rushed  to  him. 

"  Roger,  oh,  Roger !  You  ido  love  me,  don't  you  ?  Oh, 
tell  me  that  you  do !  I  shall  die  if  you  don't ! " 

He  drew  me  into  his  arms,  and  sat  in  the  large  chair, 
his  face  unnaturally  pale  and  grave.  "  Phyllis,  what's 
happened?  You  mustn't  cry  like  that!  Do  you  hear? 
Tell  me  instantly!" 

His  peremptory  order  comforted  me ;  for  he  gave  it  as 
if  I  belonged  to  him.  He  wouldn't  speak  with  such  au- 
thority, save  where  he  was  sure  he  reigned  master. 

"  Maxey !  "  I  murmured. 

"  Oh,  it's  Maxey,  is  it?  I  imagined  something  had 
happened  to  the  kid.  I  met  him  looking  as  glum  as  an 
oyster,  and  he  muttered  something  about  being  an  old 
bachelor  forever — " 

I  stopped  Roger's  flow  of  merry  words  with  passionate 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  169 

kisses.  I  wanted  —  oh,  how  I  wanted  to  hear  him  claim 
me! 

"  Phyllis,"  he  murmured,  "  Phyllis,  what  a  little  witch 
you  are!  The  man  who  could  not  love  you  would  indeed 
have  to  be  without  a  heart." 

He  enveloped  me  in  his  strong  arms,  and  Maxey  was 
forgotten.  I  am  happy  —  God,  dear  God,  how  happy ! 


CHAPTER  XX 

CASPERONE  has  written  to  me  again, —  a  serious, 
pleading,  lovesick  letter,  offering  to  make  me  a 
Countess,  and  to  endow  me  with  his  worldly  goods, 
setting  at  naught  relatives  and  all  else.  But  the  coronet 
of  a  Countess  has  no  attraction  for  me;  for  I  had  rather 
be  with  Roger  than  marry  any  Count  in  the  world.  I 
wrote  very  briefly,  therefore,  declining  Casperone's  daz- 
zling proposals. 

When  Roger  came  in  he  caught  me  scribbling.  "  One 
would  think  you  were  writing  a  book,  Phyllis,"  he  said. 
"  You  know  this  is  Saturday  night,  and  I  always  think  of 
it  as  our  night." 

At  this  the  clouds  lifted,  the  sky  was  blue,  and  my 
figurative  sun  shone  brightly. 

"  How's  Mother  tonight?  "  he  asked.  "  I  worry  over 
her  health  all  the  time.  Isn't  she  a  darling?  A  gentler, 
sweeter  woman  a  fellow  couldn't  possibly  imagine.  No 
boy  could  have  had  a  truer  friend  than  she  has  been  to  me. 
She  is  such  a  good  woman,  too !  " 

I  admired  his  filial  devotion  and  love;  but  I  couldn't 
help  wincing.  He  stooped  over  me  in  concern. 

"  Phyllis,  you  look  pale  and  tired.  Don't  write  any 
more  in  that  book  of  yours.  Go  and  have  a  rest  before 
dinner." 

If  I  only  could  have  told  him !  I  must  tell  him  soon ! 
But  he  will  ask  me  to  marry  him  first  —  I  won't  be  afraid. 
He  must  ask  me  to  marry  him  before  —  that ! 


170 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  171 

In  the  hush  of  the  quiet  Sabbath  afternoon  I'm  writing 
down  last  night's  occurrences.  Mrs.  Everard  ate  her  din- 
ner in  bed,  and  there  was  the  usual  discussion  between 
Maxey  and  Bruce  as  to  women  and  marriage.  I  noticed 
that  Maxej  has  turned  to  be  an  ardent  advocate  for  con- 
ventions. He  was  looking  directly  at  me  as  he  talked. 
Bruce  laughed,  and  Roger  smiled  at  the  boy  quizzically. 

"  What's  caused  this  sudden  revolution  in  your  feelings, 
Maxey  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  never  really  believed  in  any  old  theory  that  mar- 
riage was  a  blow  to  man's  individuality  —  and  I  believe 
it  less  —  now  —  than  I  ever  did.  Every  man  ought  to 
marry  a  good  woman." 

"  You're  right,  Max,  in  a  way,"  replied  Roger  gravely ; 
"  but  a  woman  who  is  not  good,  though,  can  prove  the 
most  devastating  influence  in  a  man's  life." 

It  seems  lately  that  everything  that  is  said  comes  home 
to  me.  "  Roger,"  I  exclaimed,  "  it  is  not  fair  to  women 
to  say  that!  It's  the  man  that  makes  the  woman  either 
one  way  or  the  other,  good  or  bad.  If  she  is  not  as  she 
should  be,  it  is  he  —  who  —  places  her  where  she  is ! " 

It  seemed  as  if  I  were  making  the  last  appeal  to  him. 
My  plea  finished  the  argument.  Donna  brought  in  the 
coffee.  Roger  suggested  as  we  left  the  table  that  he  and 
I  should  take  an  airing  and  do  the  Saturday  night's  shop- 
ping. Something  awesomely  new  hovering  over  me  left 
me  strangely  silent.  Had  it  to  do  with  the  mysterious 
secret  I  was  guarding  in  my  heart, —  a  wonderful,  sacred 
secret  I  dared  share  with  no  one  yet,  not  even  Roger? 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Phyllis?"  he  asked 
cheerfully.  "  You  don't  get  air  enough.  I'm  going  to 
take  you  out  every  day  after  this.  You  look  peaked  and 
pale." 

My  heart  gave  a  little  flutter.  If  I  only  dared  tell  him 
lHa-  it  was  not  lack  of  fresh  air!  I  wanted  him  to  talk 


172  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

of  our  future.  But  it  comforted  me  to  feel  his  warm, 
strong  hand  pressing  my  arm,  to  muse  for  an  instant  over 
his  concern  for  my  health.  God!  When  a  woman  loves 
a  man  how  little  he  has  to  concede  to  satisfy  her ! 

Later,  when  we  were  walking  leisurely  past  the  Luxem- 
bourg Gardens,  a  woman  issued  unexpectedly  from  a  by- 
street. Just  before  she  reached  us,  she  accosted  a  man 
who,  looking  critically  at  her,  rushed  on  with  a  grunt. 
By  this  time  we  were  in  front  of  her,  directly  under  one  of 
the  great  disk  lights.  Something  in  the  quick  movement 
of  surprise,  her  furtive  glance  at  Roger  and  evident 
avoidance  of  us,  made  me  scan  her  closely  through  the 
shadows.  Then  I  came  face  to  face  with  Captain  Zadie. 
I  put  out  my  hands,  stopping  so  suddenly  that  it  startled 
Roger. 

"  Captain  Zadie !  "  I  gasped.  "  Dear,  precious  Cap- 
tain Zadie ! " 

I  had  forgotten  even  him.  His  very  presence  had  faded 
away  before  the  memories  of  my  days  with  her.  This 
dear,  big  woman  had  offered  me  bread  when  I  was  hungry, 
had  warmed  me  when  I  was  freezing!  She  turned  at  my 
voice.  For  an  instant  I  saw  a  glad  expression  pass  over 
her  face, —  a  look  of  delight,  a  look  of  eagerness,  of  in- 
credulity,—  then  she  leaned  against  the  wall  and  her 
mouth  twisted  up  into  a  wry  smile. 

"What  have  I  to  do  with  the  likes  of  you?"  she  de- 
manded in  vulgar  French,  the  disdain  in  her  eyes  shifting 
to  one  of  warning.  "  The  young  madam  has  made  a  mis- 
take." 

I  gathered  myself  together,  and  glanced  into  Roger's 
face.  It  had  grown  white  as  death. 

"  Come,  Phyllis !  "  he  whispered.  "  Of  course  you  have 
made  a  mistake.  Of  course  you  have!  You  don't  know 
that  woman  ?  "  He  uttered  it  interrogatively,  command- 
ingly,  as  if  he  would  force  me  to  admit  that  I  had  mistaken 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  173 

her  for  a  friend.  The  dear,  red  face  shone  with  a  heav- 
enly light.  Zadie  changed  from  French  to  English  and 
lisped  : 

"  The  leetle  madam  meestakes.  She  meestakes,  that's 
all." 

Disconcerted  blood  leaped  into  my  face;  but  the  world 
full  of  tenderness  in  her  voice  set  my  heart  throbbing. 
Roger  drew  me  forward ;  but  somehow  I  wanted  to  remain 
with  the  fat,  silent  figure  stationed  against  the  wall. 

"  Phyllis,  why  in  the  world  did  you  stop  that  vile  be- 
ing? She  is  a  woman  of  the  street! " 

I  realized  what  I  had  done,  and  yet  I  did  not  feel  sorry. 
Wild  horses  couldn't  have  dragged  me  past  Captain  Zadie 
without  a  word  or  a  sign  to  her,  not  even  if  it  had  cost  me 
—  Roger ! 

"  I  thought,"  I  said  in  shaking  tones,  "  that  she  was 
a  friend  of  mine  that  had  once  been  in  England." 

"  I'm  sorry  you  spoke  to  her,"  he  answered  almost 
fiercely.  "  She  was  a  common,  awful  looking  woman. 
You  could  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  as  her ! " 

My  heart  prompted  the  next  stubborn  tone  in  my  voice. 
"  The  woman  I'm  thinking  of  was  good,  very  good,  and 
I  loved  her." 

"  She  couldn't  have  been  the  woman  we've  just  passed," 
Roger  commented. 

The  incident,  I  know,  left  Roger's  mind;  but  the  sight 
of  Zadie's  face  as  she  backed  against  the  ivy-covered  gar- 
den wall  will  always  be  with  me. 

As  soon  as  I  can,  I  am  going  to  see  her  again. 
.»•••••• 

I've  tried  to  confess  my  past  to  Roger.  Every  time  I 
open  my  lips,  I  remember  how  he  spoke  of  Zadie.  I 
won't  tell  him  yet  —  not  until  he  asks  me  to  marry  him. 

I'm  happy  today.  Roger's  mother  has  been  so  sweet 
to  me !  The  gentle,  high-bred  expression  on  her  face,  and 


174  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

the  occasionally  humorous  twinkle  that  creeps  about  the 
corner  of  her  mouth,  remind  me  of  Roger.  I  sang  for 
her  last  night,  and  I  saw  her  blue  eyes  grow  dim  as  she 
listened.  Instead  of  thanking  me,  she  said: 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear !  You  must  often  sing  that  for 
me.  It  takes  me  back  to  my  youth.  Phyllis,  we  can  be 
young  only  once !  " 

Last  night  Maxey  took  Mrs.  Everard  to  the  theater. 
We  remaining  three  were  sitting  over  our  coffee  after 
they  had  gone,  when  Bruce  observed: 

"  These  women  in  the  cafes  puzzle  me." 

"  Haven't  you  found  a  working  theory  about  them  yet, 
you  truth-seeker?  "  Roger  asked  a  little  sarcastically. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  form  a  working  theory  when  there 
isn't  a  general  type.  There  aren't  two  of  them  alike." 

"  Why,  Bruce ! "  I  cried.  "  You  speak  as  if  they  were 
insects  under  a  microscope.  They're  human  beings !  " 

"  Yet,  I  suppose  that,  unless  one  treats  human  beings 
as  insects  under  a  microscope,  it  is  impossible  to  devolve 
systems  of  philosophy,  and  systems  are  needed.  Poor, 
suffering  souls ! "  He  took  another  lump  of  sugar  ab- 
stractedly. 

"  The  kind  that  try  me  most,"  Roger  burst  forth,  "  are 
those  that  bound  at  you  like  an  animal,  and  demand  a 
present.  What's  the  difference  between  them  and  real  beg- 
gars? If  a  chap  selling  lead-pencils  or  papers  were  to 
take  a  sou  over  an  established  price,  and  the  officers  no- 
ticed it,  he  would  be  arrested  at  once ;  but  these  women  — " 

I  heard  no  more.  Donnez  moi  un  cadeau  drowned 
the  rest.  Donnez  moi —  Oh,  to  think  of  it  makes  me 
ill!  I  got  up  hastily  from  the  table,  went  into  my  room, 
and  turned  the  key.  My  soul  was  smarting  under  a  sting 
I  hoped  was  dead. 

Roger  knocked  at  my  door  and  asked  if  I  were  ill.     I 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  175 

controlled  my  voice  sufficiently  to  answer  him.  On  my 
assurance  that  I  was  all  right,  he  went  reluctantly  back, 
and  I  heard  him  and  Bruce  deep  in  discussion  until  the 
others  returned. 

"Where's  Phyllis?"  asked  Maxey. 

"  Oh,  she's  gone  to  bed  with  a  headache,"  said  Roger, 
and  the  next  thing  I  heard  a  gentle  knock  on  my  door. 

"  May  I  come  in,  my  dear?  "  murmured  Mrs.  Everard. 

A  longing  for  a  woman's  sympathy  made  me  rush  to  the 
door  and  unlock  it.  Roger's  mother  took  me  in  her  arms, 
and  I  think,  in  the  subdued  light,  she  noticed  my  swollen 
eyes,  for  it  was  with  more  than  usual  tenderness  that  she 
said: 

"  Poor  little  girl !  you  must  get  into  bed.  I  will  bring 
you  something  that  will  make  you  sleep  away  your  head- 
ache." 

I  wondered,  as  her  hands  smoothed  my  forehead,  if  she 
had  ever  been  tempted  in  all  her  gentle,  even  life. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

I  HAVE  a  class  of  boys  at  the  mission,  to  teach  and 
amuse, —  the  veriest  little  gamins  of  the  boulevards. 
I,  myself,  have  coaxed  them  to  me  one  by  one,  and 
now  I  have  eleven  of  different  ages.  Their  names  were 
at  first  difficult  to  remember;  but  I  have  succeeded  in 
learning  each  one  by  heart.  At  the  mission  last  Sunday, 
Roger  made  me  proud  by  openly  complimenting  my  class. 

That  evening  at  dinner,  Mrs.  Everard  said,  "  I've  never 
seen  anything  like  the  power  Phyllis  has  over  those  dirty 
little  urchins.  They  simply  adore  her.  Did  you  notice 
how  quiet  they  were  when  you  were  talking  to  them, 
Roger?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  replied  Roger,  and  Bruce  said 
steadily : 

"  All  children,  big  and  little,  adore  Phyllis,"  and  Roger 
laughed  roguishly  at  me. 

Last  Wednesday  we  prepared  a  great  surprise.  I  took 
Maxey  into  my  confidence,  and  Mrs.  Everard,  too.  To 
have  left  out  Bruce  would  have  spoiled  it  all;  so  he  too 
joined  our  party.  When  I  began  to  explain  my  plan,  all 
entered  into  it  heartily. 

"  You  see,"  said  I,  "  I  want  to  give  the  boys  a  nice 
time  and  to  keep  it  a  secret  from  Roger;  but  I  can't  do  it 
alone." 

"  Tell  us  about  it,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Everard. 

"  I  want  to  give  them  a  little  supper  here ;  to  have  the 
whole  eleven  at  this  flat,  and  stuff  their  little  stomachs 
with  all  kinds  of  good  things." 

176 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  177 

"  And  give  the  youngsters  dyspepsia  for  a  month  to 
come,"  remarked  Bruce. 

"  Good  food  won't  hurt  them  for  once,"  put  in  Mrs. 
Everard.  "  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  help  you,  Phyllis." 

"  And  I'll  make  the  sandwiches,"  Maxey  supplemented. 
"  I'm  a  genius  at  cutting  bread  straight.  But  why  don't 
you  tell  Roger?  " 

My  face  reddened ;  but  I  answered  quickly,  "  It  would 
be  such  great  fun  to  surprise  him!  You  know  he  is  so 
interested  in  anything  connected  with  the  mission ! " 

I  looked  up  as  I  said  this,  and  met  a  quick  glance  from 
Bruce ;  but  he  didn't  say  anything.  I  think  he's  inter- 
ested, too,  in  children.  He  couldn't  help  but  be,  with  his 
universal'  love. 

Oh,  dear!  what  pains  a  woman  will  take  to  please  the 
man  she  worships! 

Bruce  and  Maxey  were  almost  as  interested  as  I  in  the 
supper,  and  Mrs.  Everard  took  a  childish  delight  in  the 
arrangements.  We  cut  sandwiches  in  secret,  and  imported 
big  cakes  into  Donna's  storeroom  right  under  Roger's 
unsuspecting  nose. 

Just  before  the  hour  appointed  for  the  arrival  of  our 
young  guests,  Roger  came  bounding  in,  and  found  the 
four  of  us  in  guilty  conclave. 

"  Phyllis,"  he  cried,  "  I've  succeeded  in  getting  some 
first-night  theater  tickets  for  you  and  me.  Aren't  you 
glad?  It's  that  new  play  we  spoke  of  the  other  night." 

In  consternation  I  turned  hastily  to  the  other  three. 
Maxey  snorted  into  his  handkerchief. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Roger,"  I  faltered ;  "  but  —  but  I  have 
plans  for  tonight." 

His  face  fell,  and  I  detected  a  touch  of  hurt  feeling  in 
his  voice  as  he  said,  "  As  I  am  excluded  from  Phyllis's 
plans,  will  you  come,  Mother?  " 


178  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Darling,  Fm  sorry ;  but  I'm  going  to  do  something 
else,  too." 

Roger  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Then,  we  two  old 
bachelors  will  go,  Bruce." 

"  Sorry,  old  chap :     I'm  hors  de  combat  with  the  rest." 

"  I  suppose  Maxey  has  a  previous  engagement? " 
Roger  eyed  the  boy  suspiciously. 

"  Right  you  are,  Roddy,"  observed  Maxey  cheerfully. 

"  But  you  are  included  in  our  plans,  Roger,"  I  inter- 
posed, taking  a  step  toward  him.  "  It's  a  surprise  for 
you." 

"  But  the  theater !  "  he  complained.  "  Is  the  surprise 
worth  the  loss  of  the  tickets  ?  " 

"I  — think  so." 

"  Then  let  the  tickets  go.  But  you  ought  to  tell  me 
the  secret  now.  It  isn't  fair  to  keep  me  in  the  dark." 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet,  Roger !  "  I  cried.  "  You  shall  know 
at  eight  o'clock." 

To  prove  how  important  I  thought  the  occasion,  I 
dressed  in  my  best  frock  and  arranged  roses  in  my  hair. 
Apart  from  my  wish  to  please  Roger,  I  was  delighted  with 
the  prospect  of  having  the  tots  with  me  and  of  seeing 
their  eyes  shine  with  happiness.  At  last  the  moment  ar- 
rived, and  as -the  bell  pealed  I  rushed  with  flaming  cheeks 
to  meet  our  little  guests.  Nearing,  I  heard  subdued,  angry 
tones,  and  above  the  babble  sounded  the  broken  sobs  of 
one  little  voice.  I  opened  the  door. 

"  Teacher,  teacher  cherle!  Mayn't  I  come  ?  Mayn't 
I  come  in,  too?  " 

"  Antoine's  a  'dirty  pig,"  broke  in  two  or  three  voices  in 
unison.  "  He's  used  no  soap  today." 

"  Hush,  Boys ! "  I  commanded.  "  Hush !  Come  in 
quietly  and  explain.  Antoine  dear,  come  here !  " 

The  boy  came  immediately  to  my  side,  and  lifted  up- 
ward a  begrimed  small  face,  as  he  shoved  a  dirty  set  of 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  179 

fingers  into  mine.  I  led  him  into  the  drawing-room,  the 
others  trooping  after. 

Bruce  stood  smiling  genuinely  amused,  while  Mrs* 
Everard  held  up  her  hands  with  a  laugh. 

"  You've  certainly  enough  to  do  now,"  she  said,  patting 
my  protege's  head  consolingly. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Max. 

"  Never  mind,  Max,"  I  said.  "  Go  away.  I'll  settle 
it.  Now  tell  me,  Boys ! "  I  insisted,  holding  fast  to  An- 
toine.  "  Tell  me  all  about  it.  It'll  be  all  right." 

"  Antoine's  mother  isn't  good,"  put  in  Muret,  a  boy  of 
ten,  with  flashing  black  eyes.  "  She  ought  to  be  spitted, 
my  mother  says." 

"  Muret ! "  I  chided,  as  I  felt  the  small  hand  in  mine 
tremble  and  tug  away.  "  No,  Antoine,  no !  You 
mustn't ! " 

But  I  couldn't  hold  him.  Before  the  words  were  from 
my  lips  he  had  darted  like  an  arrow  upon  his  tormentor. 
I  was  struggling  to  separate  them,  when  another  figure 
rushed  forward,  and  my  two  pugnacious  urchins  were 
dragged  apart  by  Bruce. 

"  Phyllis,  Phyllis ! "  he  laughed,  holding  Muret  in  one 
hand  and  Antoine  in  the  other.  "  What's  the  matter  with 
your  brood?  " 

Roger  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "And  this  is  your 
secret,  is  it?"  he  said.  "Well,  it  is  a  surprise!  What 
have  the  youngsters  been  doing?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  I  replied  in  dismay.  "  An- 
toine, come  to  me !  " 

With  a  dark  glance  at  Muret,  the  child  shuffled  forward. 

"  Now  then,  Dear,"  I  said  determinedly,  "  there  must 
be  no  trouble  between  you  and  Muret  just  when  I  want 
you  to  be  happy.  Muret,  it's  wrong  of  you  to  speak  dis- 
respectfully of  Antoine's  mother." 

"She's  a— " 


180  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  She's  not ! "  screamed  Antoine  again.  "  She's  good, 
she  is!" 

I  placed  my  hand  over  his  mouth.  "  Antoine,  we'll  go 
away  for  a  few  moments  and  wash  off  the  tears,  and  when 
we  come  back  Muret  shall  apologize,  and  we'll  all  be 
happy." 

I  smiled  into  his  small,  puckered  face.  He  was  the 
darling  of  my  flock.  I  loved  his  swaggering  walk,  the 
fearless  way  he  carried  his  head,  and  his  rattling  boule- 
vard French.  * 

Roger  was  eying  me  dubiously,  and,  glancing  at  him, 
I  said: 

"  Yes,  that's  my  surprise !  Won't  you  stay  with  us  and 
help?" 

He  came  toward  me  with  impulsive  tenderness.  "  Phyl- 
lis, what  a  little  schemer  you  are !  Of  course  I'll  stay. 
Wash  up  your  young  gentleman  there,  and  we'll  give  him 
a  royal  time." 

He  patted  Antoine  on  the  head.  My  heart  bounded 
with  delight. 

"  Antoine's  mother  is  a  cocotte ! "  shouted  Muret  sud- 
denly, raising  his  voice  to  a  triumphal  shriek. 

I  came  to  a  standstill,  catching  my  breath  as  if  a  hand 
had  clutched  my  throat.  Muret's  face  shone  with  ac- 
complished revenge.  His  proud,  dark-lidded  eyes  low- 
ered tauntingly.  I  caught  a  glance  from  Bruce,  and  a 
strange,  pitying  expression  whitened  his  face.  He  was 
sending  me  a  message  of  sympathy.  I  am  wondering 
now  why?  For  a  moment  Antoine  stood  with  clenched 
fists,  then  with  a  sob  he  sank  limply  to  the  floor,  hiding  his 
shamed  face  in  my  robe. 

I  shrank  back  as  if  Muret  were  accusing  me.  A  hun- 
dred hideous  nights  on  the  boulevard  seemed  to  leer  one 
by  one  at  me  as  if  they  had  entities  of  their  own.  Again 
I  was  walking  through  the  rain  on  Boulevard  St.  Michel 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  181 

receiving  the  bitter  humiliation  that  comes  to  all  beggars. 
But  Roger's  assuring  look  dispersed  the  shadows.  I  was 
with  him,  and  the  horror  had  gone,  even  if  little  An- 
toine's  — 

'*  Come  with  me,  Deary,"  I  said  huskily.  "  Your 
mother  is  a  very  good  woman,  I'm  sure ;  so  don't  cry  any 
more." 

We  did  not  speak  when  the  washing  process  was  going 
on ;  but  when  it  was  finished  I  kissed  him  with  a  whispered 
assurance  that  I  loved  him,  and  led  him  back. 

Darling  little  Antoine !     I'm  fonder  of  him  than  ever ! 

When  we  reached  the  drawing-room,  Roger  came  for- 
ward, leading  Muret.  For  a  moment  Antoine  looked  at 
the  boy  distrustfully ;  but  Muret  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  was  a  pig,  Antoine,"  he  apologized,  and  then  added, 
"  You  needn't  mind  about  your  mother :  my  father's  in 
jail!"  ^ 

Antoine's  face  lightened  as  he  grasped  his  opponent's 
hand,  and  in  spite  of  the  gravity  of  the  situation  Roger 
allowed  a  smile  to  curve  the  corners  of  his  lips.  But  he 
was  solemn  enough  when  he  turned  to  me. 

"  We're  all  going  to  have  a  nice  time.  I'll  tell  you, 
Mademoiselle  Teacher,  what  I've  been  saying  to  the  boys. 
I  wanted  them  to  understand  how  good  you  are  to  give 
them  this  evening  in  your  own  home,  and  that  they  must 
make  it  agreeable  for  you  by  being  well  behaved  and 
kindly." 

Each  little  voice  piped  an  assurance,  and  afterward  I 
noticed  that  Muret  and  Antoine  were  on  the  best  of  terms. 
They  had  found  a  bond  of  union  in  the  sorrows  of  their 
young  years.  It  was  a  clean  and  radiant  Antoine  and  a 
strong  and  subdued  Muret  who,  scarcely  leaving  my  side, 
helped  with  the  younger  children  like  the  devoted  aides- 
de-camp  they  were. 

After  their  feast,  I  sang  to  the  boys,  at  Bruce's  re- 


182  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

quest.  Glad  tears  rose  to  my  eyes,  and  once  Roger  came 
to  the  piano  and  looked  queerly  at  me;  but  I  sang  on,  for 
I  was  not  ashamed  of  my  emotion.  When  my  little  people 
went  away,  I  gave  them  all  a  flower,  and  Mrs.  Everard, 
Roger,  Bruce,  and  Maxey,  among  them,  gave  each  child 
a  five-franc  piece. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  a  walk  before  I  sleep,"  commented 
Bruce  ruefully.  "  I  couldn't  have  believed  it  would  take 
such  a  lot  of  energy  to  entertain  a  few  youngsters.  Let's 
blow  off  the  excitement,  Max." 

"  I'm  tired  too,"  confessed  Mrs.  Everard  to  me ;  "  so 
I'll  be  selfish  and  leave  you  and  Roger  to  the  clearing  up. 
It  was  a  charming  evening,  Phyllis  dear.  I've  never 
heard  you  sing  better.  Good  night,  my  baby,"  and  she 
stood  on  tiptoe  to  kiss  her  tall  son. 

The  door  closed  upon  her,  and  I  was  alone  with  Roger. 
He  took  me  tenderly  in  his  arms.  I  was  content. 

"  Phyllis,  Phyllis !  "  he  murmured.  "  I'm  so  conscience- 
stricken  ! " 

I  put  my  hand  over  his  lips,  and,  trembled  to  his  heart, 
remained  silent  for  a  long  time. 


ROGER  has  been  trying  to  persuade  Mrs.  Everard 
and  me  to  go  to  Switzerland  for  some  weeks. 
However,  all  the  coaxing  in  the  world  won't  take 
me  away  from  Paris.  I  can't  leave  him.  Although  I've 
made  a  brave  pretense  to  terminate  my  visit  here,  I  met 
with  such  storms  of  opposition  from  everyone  that  I  de- 
cided to  stay  awhile  longer.  Really,  Mrs.  Everard  does 
need  me;  but  my  money  is  dwindling  week  by  week,  al- 
though I've  clung  to  every  sou. 

My  desire  is  greater  every  day  that  Roger  should  ask 
me  to  marry  him.  Bruce  says  that  if  anyone  wishes  for 
a  thing  hard  enough,  he'll  get  it.  He  says,  too,  that  one 
can't  get  away  from  his  own ;  that  the  best  will  come  some- 
time. Oh,  how  strongly  I'm  wishing  for  my  bestl 

Writing  of  Bruce  reminds  me  that  he  has  just  brought 
me  some  more  flowers.  Their  fragrance  fills  the  whole 
room.  I  honestly  think  that  Bruce  Stewart  is  —  is  the 
best  man  in  the  world:  not  because  he  brings  me  flowers, 
and  Roger  forgets  to  —  no,  it  isn't  anything  so  petty  as 
that.  He's  noble,  strong,  and  most  thrilling  when  he  is 
pushing  an  argument  against  Roger's  idea  for  perpetual 
• —  after  the  earth  —  Hell.  I  believe  the  same  as  Bruce 
does.  I  cling  to  his  words  that  God  is  good,  splendid,  in 
His  sweeping  love  for  us  all  —  even  a  sinner  like  me  1 

Today  is  the  fourteenth  of  July,  the  greatest  fete 
day  in  France.  And  the  people  are  busy  decorating  the 
city  for  the  evening's  amusement.  Roger  has  asked  me 
to  go  across  the  river  tonight  to  watch  the  fireworks. 

183 


184  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Mrs.  Everard  was  to  have  come  with  us;  but  feared  it 
would  tax  her  strength  too  much,  and  she  decided  to  stay 
home.  I  must  stop  writing;  for  we  start  soon. 

I  can't  decide  whether  I  can  live  longer  or  not. 

Late  yesterday  afternoon,  Roger  and  I  went  to  the 
Continental  Hotel  on  the  Rue  de  Castiglione  for  dinner. 
We  sat  in  silence ;  for  he  was  pale  and  distrait,  while  I 
was  so  unhappy  that  I  couldn't  eat,  much  less  talk. 

Instinct  must  have  told  him  how  badly  I  felt;  for  we 
did  not  linger  over  our  coffee,  but  went  out  immediately 
into  the  Bois,  where  boys  and  girls  were  flinging  flowers 
and  confetti  at  one  another  in  high  glee.  Temporary 
music  stands  had  been  erected  at  every  second  corner ;  for 
the  fourteenth  of  July  is  the  one  day  in  the  year  when 
the  French  people  cluster  about  to  jubilate  on  the  asphalt 
pavement.  Lanterns  were  hung  from  the  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde to  the  end  of  the  Bois,  making  it  seem  that  the  day- 
light had  been  caught  and  confined  in  transparent  prisons. 
The  whole  city  was  as  splendid  as  a  jeweled  princess;  and, 
if  Paris  had  been  viewed  from  an  airship,  the  thousands 
of  colored  lights  strung  through  every  avenue  and  boule- 
vard would  have  looked  like  a  million  rainbows  arranged 
symmetrically  side  by  side.  In  the  woods,  also,  every 
tree  bore  its  burden  of  brilliant  light,  and  if  I  hadn't  been 
so  miserable  my  soul  would  have  delighted  in  the  feast  of 
color. 

Until  eleven  o'clock,  we  drove  up  and  down  through  one 
festival  after  another;  then  Roger  ordered  the  cabman  to 
drive  home. 

When  we  neared  Pont  Neuf,  which  spans  the  river 
Seine,  we  found  drawn  up  in  scarlet  array  several  lines  of 
guardians  of  the  peace. 

One  of  them  stepped  forward  to  our  carriage.  "  You 
cannot  pass  here,  Monsieur,"  said  he. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  185 

"Rubbish!  It  can't  be  closed  for  the  night!  We 
must  pass:  we  live  in  the  Latin  quarter,"  Roger  said  in 
decisive  tones. 

The  officer  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  one  of  his  com- 
panions laughed. 

"  The  bridge  will  not  be  clear  tonight,"  shouted  an- 
other. 

We  attempted  farther  down  the  Seine  to  cross  two  more 
bridges,  with  the  same  result.  At  last,  muttering  some- 
thing, Roger  ordered  the  cabman  to  return  to  the  Avenue 
de  1'Opera. 

"  Now,  then,  what  are  we  going  to  do  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  replied  helplessly. 

We  halted  on  the  corner  near  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix.  I 
caught  sight  of  the  boy  imitating  Napoleon ;  but  his  chat- 
ter was  drowned  in  the  noise. 

"  Phyllis,  we  simply  can't  get  home  tonight ! " 

Roger  flung  himself  back  in  the  seat  grimly.  I  could 
not  have  spoken,  even  if  my  life  had  depended  upon  it. 

•  ••••••• 

The  few  moments  I  spent  waiting  for  Roger  at  the 
hotel  while  he  made  arrangements  in  the  office,  are  un- 
forgettable. I  could  hear  the  fiacres  dash  up,  stop,  empty 
their  occupants  hastily,  and  then  drive  away  again.  Mo- 
tors whizzed  madly  past,  hooting  hoarsely  amid  the  con- 
stant shuffling  of  feet  on  the  pavements.  Scraps  of  con- 
versation in  rapid  French  drifted  in  from  the  hall,  and 
there  was  a  constant  coming  and  going. 

Too  restless  to  sit  still,  I  wandered  from  window  to 
window,  until  I  heard  Roger  coming  through  the  corri- 
dor. He  almost  carried  me  to  the  lift.  As  he  closed  the 
door  behind  us,  he  said: 

"  I  had  to  register  you  as  my  wife ;  but  —  but  I  have 
a  suite." 

His  voice  was  cold,  and  he  did  not  bend  to  kiss  me  as 


186  WHEN  TRAGEDY.  GRINS 

he  had  done  so  many  times  at  home,  but  proceeded  to  take 
off  my  wraps,  hanging  them  with  his  own  on  the  rack. 
I  wish  he  had  beat  me  —  I  should  have  adored  any  master- 
ful outburst,  even  to  pain,  rather  than  that  polite,  insuf- 
ferable nicety.  I  hate  it  —  I  hate  it!  For  fully  five 
minutes  we  had  not  uttered  a  word,  when  all  at  once  he 
broke  out: 

"  Phyllis,  I  would  have  given  half  I'm  worth  not  to 
have  been  forced  to  bring  you  here  tonight;  but  you 
understand  there  was  no  other  way." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  trying  to  be  calm.  His  pallor 
frightened  a  feverish  exclamation  from  me.  "  Roger, 
Roger,  why  are  you  so  unhappy  and  —  and  so  differ- 
ent? " 

I  couldn't  help  asking  this  question.  I  was  opening 
up  a  way  to  tell  him  my  secret.  How  I  craved  to  hear 
him  ask  me  to  marry  him ! 

"  Because,"  he  said,  stopping  in  front  of  me,  "  you're 
too  good,  much  too  good,  Dear,  to  have  things  like  this 
happen  to  you.  When  I  think  of  your  future,  I  feel  like 
cursing  myself." 

"  I  don't  want  to  think  of  my  future,"  I  put  in  coldly. 

"  But  you  must,  Child,  you  must !  You  will  go  into 
the  world  with  that  voice  of  yours  —  that  generous  tem- 
perament —  God !  what  I  have  suffered  since  that  — • 
night !  Everything  seems  awful  to  me !  " 

Did  this  mean  that  I  should  go  again  into  the  world 
without  him  ?  Why,  I  can't  go !  I  can't  go !  I  must 
have  him!  Paralyzed  with  fear,  I  shrank  farther  and 
farther  into  the  armchair. 

"  Phyllis,"  he  went  on,  "  Phyllis,  can  you  forgive  me 
for  bringing  you  here?" 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  please  don't.  There  is  nothing  to 
forgive.  I  am  here  with  you,  and  I  am  quite  satisfied." 

He  bounded  forward  and  lifted  my  face  to  his.     "  I 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  187 

«wear  upon  my  eternal  salvation  that  I  will  protect  you 
from  yourself !  I've  made  a  resolution  never  to  —  to  — " 

I  stopped  him  with  a  motion  of  my  hand.  To  protect 
me  from  myself!  Oh,  that  I  had  been  protected  from 
him !  "  It  is  too  late  for  your  resolutions,"  I  said  dully. 

He  misunderstood  me,  and  cried  out  sharply,  "  No,  it 
isn't,  Phyllis!  No,  it  isn't!  If  you  will  make  me  that 
promise  over  again,  I  shall  live  with  peace  in  my  mind. 
You  are  going  to  be  a  great  woman  some  day,  and  I  shall 
be  proud  of  you.  But  just  now,  little  girl,  I  am  too  con- 
trite to  think  of  anything  but  what  we've  done." 

My  heart  stood  still,  and  I  thought  all  the  good  in  me 
was  dead.  He  feared  only  that  he  had  spoiled  my  career ! 
At  that  moment  my  career  and  my  future  sank  into  in- 
significance. A  tear  rolled  down  each  of  my  cheeks.  I 
wonder  what  he  thought  of  me  when  I  dropped  down  and 
began  to  sob.  He  was  standing  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room  in  silence.  Suddenly  I  got  up;  but  made  no  move 
toward  him. 

"  Will  you  leave  me  now  ?  "  I  stammered.  "  I  want  to 
go  to  sleep,  please." 

He  turned  and  was  gone  before  I  could  say  another 
word.  For  a  few  moments  I  heard  him  moving  about; 
then  followed  a  deathlike  silence  from  his  room. 

I  don't  know  when  I  fell  asleep;  but  the  first  thing  I 
heard  was  Roger  knocking  and  telling  me  it  was  nine 
o'clock. 


CHAPTER  XXIH 

1   HAVEN'T  written  for  several  days.     Of  late  I  hare 
had  headaches.     I  told  Marquise  that  I  had  a  cold, 
and  couldn't  sing  for  a  time ;  so  I've  stopped  taking 
lessons. 

Oh,  if  Roger  wouldn't  wear  that  harassed  look!  His 
conscience  must  torture  him  almost  as  much  as  something 
else  does  me.  I've  discovered  that  women  are  different 
from  men  in  many  vital  ways.  When  I  was  in  the  boule- 
vards, my  conscience  used  to  tear  me  to  pieces.  Now  it's 
only  the  insistent  demands  of  my  heart  I  desire  satisfied. 
I  don't  want  Roger  to  talk  of  drifting,  of  high  morals, 
and  of  women  who  would  give  their  lives  for  their  honor. 
There  may  be  such  women,  there  must  be  many  who  had 
rather  die  than  love  as  I  have;  but  if  any  living  woman 
loves  a  man  like  Roger  Everard  —  then,  I  say,  God  pity 
her! 

And  I  wish,  too,  that  he  were  never  preoccupied  when 
he  is  with  me.  I  feel  as  jealous  of  his  preoccupation  as  if 
it  were  another  woman. 

Bruce  surprised  me  yesterday  by  bringing  me  another 
bunch  of  flowers,  and  when  he  handed  them  to  me  he  said, 
as  if  to  excuse  himself,  "  I  bought  them  of  a  poor  woman 
because  she  had  a  host  of  young  kids  with  her." 

I>arling  giant !     He's  so  dear,  always ! 

The  flowers  brought  about  a  discussion  at  the  table. 

"  Hello !  Where  did  the  roses  come  from  ?  By  Jove ! 
they  are  sweet !  "  Roger  leaned  over  and  sniffed  at  them. 

Bruce  looked  up  from  his  paper.  "  I  brought  them," 
he  answered.  "  I  met  a  woman  with  a  baby  and  some 

188 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  189 

other  children  at  her  skirts.  She  looked  as  if  she  needed 
the  sous."  He  shot  a  half-humorous  glance  at  me. 

Roger  chuckled.  "  So  you've  taken  up  with  philan- 
thropy, Stewart ! "  he  remarked.  "  I  thought  you  were 
against  helping  beggars." 

"  A  woman  selling  flowers  isn't  a  beggar,"  replied 
Bruce  lamely.  "  And  she  had  a  lot  of  children." 

'*  Yet  you  must  remember,  Bruce,  what  you've  so  often 
said  about  women  who  drag  kids  about  with  them." 

This  from.  Maxey,  and  Mrs.  Everard  exclaimed  with 
some  indignation: 

"  And  why,  Dear,  should  Mr.  Stewart  object  to  a  woman 
with  babies  taking  money  from  strangers  ?  " 

Bruce  was  silent.  His  face  changed  color,  and  a  sus- 
picion of  a  frown  came  on  his  brow.  I  thought  his  glance 
at  me  was  almost  appealing.  Before  I  could  speak, 
Maxey  broke  in: 

"  I  think  you  would  object  too,  Mrs.  Everard,  if  you 
knew  that  there  are  establishments  in  Paris  where  they 
maim  children  and  then  hire  them  out  to  these  women.  I 
mean  that  they  put  out  their  eyes  and  amputate  legs  and 
arms." 

"How  horrible!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Everard,  and  Roger 
added : 

"  You  can't  imagine,  Mother,  what  a  stock  in  trade  a 
crippled  child  is  to  a  beggar." 

A  vision  of  Casperone  flashed  into  my  mind.  I  could 
see  the  fat  man's  woman  loom  out  from  the  crimson  of 
Bruce's  roses,  and  again  there  came  a  wave  of  pity  for 
the  strange  baby  strapped  to  the  board.  My  face  whit- 
ened, and  I  exclaimed: 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  about  such  things,  please ! " 

Seeing  his  mother's  agitation  and  mine,  Roger  changed 
the  subject  quickly.  The  men  moved  from  the  table,  and 
Bruce  drew  on  his  overcoat.  I  brushed  his  sleeve  with  my 


190  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

fingers,  and  picked  a  piece  of  obstinate  lint  from  it  care- 
fully. 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  flowers,  Bruce,"  I  said  softly, 
"  and  I  appreciate  them." 

For  just  an  instant  I  saw  a  strange  light  flash  in  his 
eyes  as  he  turned  from  me.  He  paused  as  if  he  were  go- 
ing to  speak,  and  then  went  out,  slamming  the  door. 

•  •  •  .  .  •  •  • 

I've  been  deeply  touched  by  Bruce's  continued  offering 
of  roses.  It's  strange  how  tender  we  feel  when  somebody, 
who  is  not  habituated  to  do  graceful  things,  suddenly  re- 
members to  do  them.  He  brings  flowers  every  day  now. 
The  mother  with  the  babies  must  be  very  glad  to  get  the 
sous. 

Lately  I  have  been  trying  to  analyze  my  feeling  toward 
Bruce.  It's  very  difficult  to  compare  it  with  my  love  for 
Roger  —  and  not  to  one  soul  in  the  world  would  I  confess 
what  I'm  about  to  write.  There  are  times,  when  I'm  with 
Roger,  and  my  nerves  tingle  my  blood  till  it  boils,  that  I 
am  persuaded  of  his  superior  goodness;  but  here  in  cold 
decision  I  write  that  I'm  the  wickedest  girl  in  the  wide 
world,  and  Roger  is  wicked,  too,  but  Bruce  is  the  noblest 
of  God's  created  beings.  As  I  read  back  a  bit,  I've  a 
notion  to  put  my  pen  through  what  I  have  just  written. 
No!  I  won't,  because  every  word  is  true! 

There  are  not  so  many  discussions  as  there  used  to  be, 
especially  for  and  against  marriage.  I  am  grateful  for 
that.  There's  something  torturing  in  such  arguments  to 
me. 

•  «  •  .  .  •  •  • 

Roger  and  I  have  had  many  talks  lately;  but  they  al- 
ways end  by  leaving  a  sting  in  my  heart. 

"  Phyllis,"  he  asked  one  evening,  "  how  are  you  get- 
ting on  with  your  lessons?  I  haven't  heard  you  sing  for 
an  age." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  191 

The  question  came  so  quickly  that  the  truth  flew  to  my 
lips.  "  1  haven't  taken  a  lesson  for  a  long  time.  I 
haven't  felt  very  well." 

If  he  had  only  said  something  different  to  me  that 
evening,  he  could  have  made  me  so  —  so  much  —  less  — 
afraid. 

"  You're  not  ill?  "  he  broke  in  on  my  rushing  thoughts. 

"  No,  it's  a  cold.  Marquise  told  me  to  wait  a  little 
while." 

This  only  half  satisfied  him.  "  Phyllis,  I  wouldn't  do 
anything  to  stand  in  your  way,  to  hinder  your  advance- 
ment in  a  career,  for  anything  in  the  world,  and  I  feel  as 
if  I  were  an  obstacle." 

"  Why,  Roger?  " 

"  Well,  a  person  can't  be  so  wholly  absorbed  in  another 
without  losing  interest  in  work.  You  spend  too  much 
time  in  doing  things  for  me." 

As  if  that  were  possible!  I  wish  my  heart  had  the 
power  to  beat  for  him  a  hundred  times  faster  than  it 
does! 

"  I  take  care  of  Maxey's  and  of  Bruce's  clothes  as  I  do 
of  yours,"  I  whispered.  "  They  haven't  the  slightest  sus- 
picion." 

"  I  don't  think  they  have,"  was  his  reply.  "  Still,  my 
conscience  hurts  me,  Phyllis." 

Another  thing  I've  discovered,  too.  A  man's  conscience 
attacks  him  only  when  he  wants  it  to.  A  woman's  heart 
never  stops  hurting. 

I  was  on  his  knee  as  he  spoke ;  but  he  didn't  try  to  place 
me  back  in  the  chair.  He  only  held  me  close,  and  I  heard 
his  breath  come  quickly. 

"  But  for  your  sake,  Phyllis,"  he  began,  "  your  whole 
future  — " 

"  My  whole  future  depends  upon  you,  Roger,"  I  inter- 
rupted. "  I  can  be  nothing,  I  care  for  nothing,  but  you. 


192  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

If  you  think  my  love  is  wicked,  I'm  sorry.  To  me,  it's 
the  highest,  holiest,  and  the  best  the  world  can  give." 

Something  that  lives  with  me  always  made  me  say  that 
—  and  I'm  not  able  yet  to  decide  whether  or  not  it  is 
true. 

Roger  sighed  and  pressed  me  closer.  I  drew  his  head 
down  and  kissed  his  lips. 

Oh,  dear!  I  wish  it  were  the  fashion  for  women  to 
propose  marriage !  I'd  —  I'd  go  and  wake  him  up  right 
now,  and  —  and  —  Precious  God !  I'm  so  afraid  that  I 
hang  to  each  minute,  hating  the  falling  of  the  twilight 
hours ! 

•  »••*»•  • 

When  Bruce  Stewart  suggested  a  family  trip  to  Fon- 
tainebleau,  Roger  said  that  he  must  spend  the  day  in  his 
studio,  and  insisted  that  I  go  alone  with  Bruce.  It  was 
decided  that  the  journey  would  be  too  fatiguing  for  Mrs. 
Everard,  and  Max  had  something  else  to  do. 

I  had  rather  have  stayed  at  home  than  go  without  Roger. 
Of  late  I've  been  so  miserable  that  excursions  of  any  sort 
are  not  alluring.  But  one  can't  complain  of  illness  in 
some  circumstances. 

We  started  very  early  in  the  morning,  so  as  to  be  able 
to  return  before  nightfall.  I  wonder  Bruce  was  not  dis- 
pleased with  me;  for  all  the  way  out  on  the  train  I  was 
so  moody  and  distraught  that  I  am  positive  he  noticed  it. 
However,  he  was  unusually  tender  and  solicitous. 

There's  one  thing:  I  never  see  Bruce  that  I  don't  hugely 
admire  his  immaculate  dress,  big  body,  and  wonderful 
face.  He's  a  perfect  study  in  human  anatomy. 

"  This  is  a  trip  I've  wanted  to  take  with  you  ever  since 
you  came  to  our  home.  Last  summer  I  stayed  three  weeks 
in  the  forest,"  said  he,  when  piloting  me  among  the  fa- 
mous old  pictures  and  galleries.  "  Weren't  you  glad  to 
come,  Phyllis  ?  " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  193 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  I  hastened  to  reply.  "  It  was  kind  of 
you,  Bruce,  to  ask  me." 

After  that,  he  explained  the  wonders  of  the  palaces  and 
the  one  hundred  and  one  things  pertaining  to  royalty. 
It  may  not  be  democratic  and  American,  but  I'm  always 
interested  in  kings  and  queens,  especially  dead  ones. 

We  had  dinner  in  a  small,  out-of-the-way  cafe. 

Bruce  asked  me  not  to  drink  any  of  the  red  or  white 
wine.  "  It's  adulterated  in  these  places,"  he  explained, 
and,  lifting  his  eyes,  smiled  as  he  finished,  "  I  don't  want 
you  to  drink  any  kind  of  wine  at  any  time,  either." 

This  surprised  me  to  such  an  extent  that  I  couldn't  find 
any  answer,  nor  did  he  speak  to  me  until  we  had  climbed 
into  the  rickety  old  wagon  and  were  far  up  the  Fontaine- 
bleau  forest-road. 

I've  never  seen  such  trees,  and  I  recall  perfectly  that  I 
spoke  first  to  Bruce,  looking  up  at  him  at  the  same  time. 
His  deathly  pallor  made  me  catch  my  breath,  and  I  for- 
got my  request  that  he  explain  the  origin  of  the  white 
roads  and  snuggling  monasteries. 

"Bruce,  don't  you  feel  well?"  I  gasped,  turning 
squarely  upon  him.  "  You're  awfully  white." 

He  shook  visibly,  ignored  my  allusion  to  his  sudden  dis- 
tress, and  said,  "  Most  of  the  monasteries  are  empty  at 
present.  The  monks  are  gone." 

The  uncommonness  of  his  nervousness  struck  me.  His 
was  such  a  calm  nature ;  at  least,  I  had  always  counted  it 
so.  After  that,  I  was  disinclined  to  talk,  and  we  were 
both  silent  until  the  cocker  drew  up  to  the  roadside. 

In  patois  he  explained  that  most  tourists  descended  here, 
and  that  by  walking  up  the  hill  a  bit,  and  through  a 
narrow  path  where  a  horse  could  not  draw  a  cab,  we 
might  take  a  view  of  the  wonderful  gorges  and  the  forest 
beyond.  As  the  man  settled  back  in  his  cab,  he  shot  a 
wrarning  after  us. 


194  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Keep  to  the  paths,  Monsieur.  The  snakes  are  plenty 
and  dangerous." 

And  there,  from  our  position  among  the  great  white 
boulders,  we  silently  watched  numbers  of  serpents  trail 
their  beautiful  bodies  from  the  crevices  and  stretch  their 
lengths  over  the  rocks. 

"  I  wish  I  could  touch  one ! "  I  said  softly.  "  I  used 
to  play  with  them  when  I  was  a  child.  They're  so  beau- 
tiful!" 

This  didn't  surprise  Bruce  at  all.  Roger  would  have 
jumped  out  of  his  skin  at  such  a  remark  from  me.  I 
bring  to  mind  once  when  he  and  I  were  together  in  the 
Luxembourg  Gardens,  how  he  trod  upon  a  harmless  garden 
snake,  crushing  its  head  flat  under  his  heel.  Of  course  I 
cried  out  against  the  injustice  of  it,  and  Roger,  flaming  in 
anger,  said: 

"  Phyllis,  have  some  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things !  It 
has  been  proved  biblically  that  the  serpent  has  been  and 
always  will  be  the  worst  enemy  of  your  sex.  You  haven't 
forgotten  the  story  of  Eden  ?  " 

And  I  replied,  "  No,  not  forgotten  it ;  but  I  have  never 
believed  it." 

Roger  didn't  speak  to  me  during  that  walk  home.  In 
the  evening,  to  dispel  his  frown,  I  whispered  that  I  did 
believe  the  Genesis  story  of  Eve  and  her  tempter. 

I  couldn't  help  but  note  the  thoughtful  expression  with 
which  Bruce  surveyed  the  reptiles,  brilliant  in  varied  color- 
ing in  the  sun. 

"  Yes,  they  are  beautiful,"  he  said,  turning  to  me. 
"  Every  move  they  make  is  graceful." 

"  And  yet  they're  the  most  despised  of  all  creation,"  I 
put  in,  "  and  never,  while  I  live,  shall  I  understand  it." 

"  Because  it  is  not  true,"  replied  Bruce.  "  Man's  ego- 
tism, his  desire  to  find  somebody  or  something  to  throw  his 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  195 

shortcomings  upon,  has  brought  that  foolish  story  into 
life.  It's  rubbish!" 

"  I  hope  that  it  is,"  I  answered  meditatively. 

We  had  walked  about  half  a  mile  when  I  wheeled  on 
Bruce  Stewart.  "  Bruce,"  I  demanded,  "  do  you  think 
Roger  really  believes  that  women  are  inferior  to  men  ?  " 

He  sounded  a  grim  grunt  that  didn't  seem  to  class  with 
his  handsome  mouth  and  glittering  teeth.  "  Roger's  an 
ass  about  some  things,"  he  drawled,  and  that  was  all  the 
answer  I  received. 

Then,  as  suddenly  as  I  had  broken  in  upon  his  thoughts 
a  few  moments  before,  Bruce  interrupted  mine.  "  Phyl- 
lis," he  said,  "will  you  marry  me?" 

I  flashed  a  frightened  glance  into  his  strange,  com- 
pelling eyes,  now  drowsy  with  inexplicable  questioning. 
His  wonderful  ruddy  skin  had  pallored  in  passion.  Sud- 
denly he  came  close  to  me  and  laid  a  hand  upon  my 
shoulder. 

"  Phyllis !  "  he  whispered,  and  then  again,  "  Little  Phyl- 
lis !" 

Still,  I  could  not  speak;  a  mental  tumult  rushed  the 
blood  through  my  heart  at  such  a  rate  that  I  couldn't 
breathe.  Of  a  sudden,  I  realized  my  awful  position,  and 
shook  off  his  hand. 

"  Of  course  I  won't  marry  you,  Bruce.  I  can't  1  It's 
absolutely  impossible!  Take  me  back  to  the  cab." 

As  we  walked  slowly  back  in  silence,  I  stole  a  glance  at 
the  big  man,  gray-faced  in  disappointment.  I  wished  I 
were  a  man,  too.  If  I  had  been,  I  should  have  slipped  my 
hand  through  his  arm  and  have  told  him  all  the  burning 
ambitions  of  my  life:  as  it  is,  every  aspiration  in  me  is 
shrouded  in  its  grave  —  buried  by  Roger. 

At  the  end  of  the  broken  stony  path,  Bruce  paused. 
"  Phyllis,"  he  faltered,  "  I  had  hoped  you  might  love  me 


196  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

enough  to  marry  me ;  but,  if  you  can't,  will  you  remember 
—  oh,  dear  girl,  will  you  remember  that  if  you  need  me 
I  shall  always  be  your  friend?  No  matter  what  comes,  I 
shall  be  ready." 

I  could  only  nod  my  head,  and  as  we  clattered  through 
the  forest  neither  one  of  us  spoke  another  word. 

I  remember  that  I  dreamed  that  night  of  Bruce,  and 
woke  at  dawn,  happy  and  smiling,  only  to  drop  back  in 
wide-eyed  horror  when  full  consciousness  came  in  all  its 
hideous  truth. 

Today  I  went  to  the  priest  in  Rue  Kleber.  His  name 
is  Father  Beulais.  I  had  to  go :  the  need  of  comfort  from 
another  human  being,  of  unburdening  myself  to  one  person 
at  least,  was  crying  within  me. 

He  met  me  with  the  same  expression  of  melancholy  and 
sweetness  that  I  had  observed  before.  "  I  knew  that  you 
would  come,"  he  said  softly.  "  It's  cooler  than  yesterday, 
isn't  it?  The  days  we've  had  lately  are  wonderful! 
Won't  you  sit  down  —  here  ?  " 

I  was  tired ;  for  now  every  little  exertion  took  away  my 
breath.  I  had  lost  my  youthfulness  and  vivacity. 

"  I  felt  you  would  need  me,"  he  said  presently,  after 
an  embarrassing  pause ;  "  for,  after  the  many  times  I  had 
seen  you  burning  candles,  I  reasoned  that  you  were  un- 
happy. That's  why  I  spoke  to  you." 

"  Yes,  I  am  unhappy,"  I  replied.  "  And  I'm  going  to 
tell  you  about  it." 

"  Very  well,"  he  answered  simply,  bringing  the  tips  of 
his  fingers  together. 

"  I  have  a  lover,"  I  began  in  a  low  tone. 

The  clear  eyes  in  the  high-bred  face  did  not  waver.  "  I 
imagined  as  much,"  he  replied. 

"  I  love  him." 

"  Of  course." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  197 

"  And  I  want  to  marry  him." 

"  Naturally." 

I  looked  into  his  face  pleadingly.  He  wasn't  helping 
me  at  all. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  need,"  said  he.  "  You  will 
have  to  tell  me  just  as  if  I  were  a  physician  and  you  were 
ill." 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  temples,  leaving  a  dead  ache 
and  a  desire  that  something  would  happen  that  would  take 
away  the  tugging  at  my  heart. 

"  He  is  very  good,"  I  put  in  quickly,  "  very  good,  in- 
deed. He  doesn't  see  matters  as  I  do,  that's  all,  or  if  he 
does  he  hasn't  said  so." 

"  You  mean  he  hasn't  asked  you  to  marry  him?  " 

I  nodded. 

"  Do  you  think  he  is  going  to  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered,  with  a  sob  in  my  throat. 
"  I  had  thought  so,  and  prayed  for  it,  night  and  day.  It 
was  for  that  that  I  burned  the  candles  lately ;  but  he  says 
nothing." 

"  Maybe  our  Holy  Mother  has  decided  that  you  are 
better  oif  without  him." 

"  I've  got  to  have  him !  "  I  cried  sharply.  "  I  will  have 
him !  She  couldn't  be  so  cruel !  As  a  woman  herself,  she 
must  see  that  I  need  him !  " 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  priest  thoughtfully.  "  I 
thought  it  was  that.  Sit  up  and  cease  crying.  It  will 
make  you  ill.  There !  I  want  to  question  you.  Does  — 
does  he  love  you  ?  " 

I  recalled  Roger's  first  long,  passionate  kiss.  "  Oh,  I 
thought  he  did,"  I  said  miserably.  "  Yes,  I'm  sure  he 
does." 

"  How  do  you  know?     Has  he  ever  told  you?  " 

I  was  about  to  give  the  affirmative  nod,  when  I  suddenly 
received  a  shock.  Roger  had  told  me  that  I  was  beautiful, 


198  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

that  I  was  his  darling;  but  had  he  once  told  me  that  he 
really  loved  me? 

"  He's  shown  it  in  a  thousand  different  ways,"  was  all 
I  could  answer. 

**  You've  seen  him  every  day  since  you  burned  candles  ?  " 
he  questioned  in  a  delicate  and  meaning  voice. 

"  We  live  in  the  same  house,"  I  replied  in  a  low  tone. 

Father  Beulais  rose  to  his  feet.  He  was  white,  pain- 
fully white.  He  had  heard  something  that  hurt  his  finer 
susceptibilities.  "  And  he  has  never  told  you  that  he  loved 

you?" 

"  Not  in  those  words,"  I  said  bravely ;  "  but,  Father, 
can't  you  understand?  He  does,  he  does  —  I  know  it!" 
I  poured  into  his  ear  evidences  of  Roger's  affection.  I 
tried  to  prove  to  him  how  impossible  it  was  that  he  didn't 
love  me. 

"  Then  why  hasn't  he  married  you  ?  "  demanded  the 
priest.  "  You're  mistaken,"  he  continued,  reseating  him- 
self. "  A  man  is  not  like  a  woman  —  there's  a  great 
difference.  Men  do  not  love  like  women." 

"  I  am  sure  he  cares  as  much  for  me  as  I  do  for  him," 
I  insisted  stubbornly. 

"  He  may  love  someone  else,"  was  his  merciless  reply. 

'*  Some  —  one  —  else  ?  " 

I  drew  back,  keeping  my  eyes  fixed  upon  him.  Lady 
Jane  flashed  for  an  instant  into  my  mind,  and  I  drew  a 
long,  sobbing  breath. 

"  I  heard  him  tell  another  woman  once  that  he  had  his 
ideal,"  I  admitted,  and  before  I  could  establish  in  the 
priest's  mind  the  belief  that  I  was  the  woman  he  had  in- 
terposed : 

"  So  he  has  his  ideal !  Nearly  all  men  have ;  but  she's 
always  a  good  woman." 

"  Oh,  Father  Beulais ! »» 

He  raised  a  warning  finger  to  ward  off  an  interruption. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  199 

"  If,  as  you  say,  he  is  the  first  man  you  have  ever  loved," 
he  went  on  relentlessly,  "  he  ought  to  feel  a  certain  re- 
sponsibility toward  you  that  he  seems  to  have  missed." 

"  But  he  does  feel  it ;  for  he  is  always  telling  me  that  he 
is  concerned  about  me.*' 

"  And  how  do  you  answer  him  ?  " 

"  I  tell  him  I'm  as  happy  as  I  can  be ;  but  it  is  only 
bravado." 

Father  Beulais  bent  his  flashing  dark  eyes  upon  me. 
"  Then  I  have  told  you  the  truth,"  said  he.  "  If  he  loved 
you,  he  would  take  you  to  the  priest  instead  of  preaching 
morals,  especially  if  he  knew  — " 

"  But  he  doesn't  know,"  I  interrupted. 

Suddenly  the  priest  wheeled  upon  me.  "  You've  got 
to  tell  him!  It's  the  only  way  he'll  ever  be  your  hus- 
band." 

"  I've  wanted  him  to  ask  me  to  be  his  wife  before  know- 
ing —  that." 

The  man  was  pacing  back  and  forth  over  the  polished 
boards.  "  Has  he  ever  spoken  of  another  woman?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied  faintly. 

"  Poor  little  girl ! "  murmured  Father  Beulais,  taking 
another  turn. 

I  sat  awhile  in  silence,  feeling  a  sort  of  dumb  faith  that 
in  this  holy  place  some  quietude  would  come  to  my  turbu- 
lent spirit. 

"  You  must  tell  him  —  you  must  tell  him  about  it ! " 
commanded  the  priest  presently.  "  If  he  is  the  man  you 
think  him  to  be,  his  pity  will  be  aroused,  at  least.  Our 
Lady  will  put  it  into  his  heart ;  for  is  she  not  the  Mother 
of  Sorrows  —  the  Mater  Dolorosa?  " 

•  ••••••  • 

I  walked  home  dazed  and  unhappy.  And  now  I  am 
waiting  for  the  call  for  dinner.  I  can  never  bring  myself 
to  tell  Roger  that!  This  very  evening  I'm  going  to  try 


200  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

and  make  him  ask  me  to  marry  him.  I  will  hear  in  so 
many  words  whether  he  does  or  does  not  love  me.  If  he 
will  tell  me  that  he  does,  my  happiness  will  be  complete. 
If  not  —  but  I  won't  think  it  —  I  can't  —  I  can't ! 

After  we  had  finished  eating,  Bruce  and  Maxey  went  out. 
Roger  stayed  at  home  with  me.  Before  I  could  gather 
courage,  he  had  picked  up  a  new  book  of  fiction  and  was 
soon  deeply  engrossed.  At  times  like  this,  or  when  he  is 
abstractedly  silent,  I  am  loath  to  disturb  him ;  but  I  simply 
couldn't  go  to  sleep  unless  he  relieved  my  heart  some- 
what. 

"  Roger,"  I  said,  softly  touching  his  hair,  "  won't  you 
put  down  your  book  for  a  minute  ?  " 

"  I'm  in  the  most  exciting  part,"  he  mumbled ;  but  he 
laid  the  book  on  the  table,  and  took  my  hand  in  his.  The 
touch  warmed  and  thrilled  me. 

"What  is  it,  Dearest?" 

I  placed  my  eyes  on  a  direct  line  with  his  so  that  he  could 
not  avoid  me.  "  Roger,"  I  pleaded,  "  are  you  —  really  — 
really  fond  of  me?  " 

He  had  not  expected  the  question.  He  drew  me  forci- 
bly to  his  knee  and,  putting  his  arm  about  me,  looked 
long  into  my  face.  "  Am  I  fond  of  you  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Am  I  fond  of  you?  ITou  have  become  indispensable  to 
me,  Phyllis." 

"  I  mean,  Roger,  more  than  you  were  when  I  came 
here  ?  Do  you  love  me  as  —  a  man  —  ought  to  : —  love  — 
a  good  woman?  " 

We  were  at  the  crucial  point. 

"  A  good  woman !  "  he  repeated,  and  then  paused. 

I  uttered  a  cry  and  dropped  my  head  on  his  shoulder, 
and  there,  tired,  sick,  and  overcome,  wept  my  heart  out  as 
I  never  had  before. 

Roger  allowed  me  to  weep ;  but  at  length  he  broke  out, 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  201 

"  You  see,  Phyllis,  I  might  as  well  be  honest :  no  good  ever 
comes  to  two  people  through  a  lie.  We  started  out 
wrong.  I  shall  regret  it  all  my  life.  That  you  are  not 
dear  to  me,  I  can't  say.  But  that's  no  reason  why  I 
should  accept  sacrifices  that  I  know  you  are  making  for 
me.  I  should  be  a  brute.  Phyllis,  I  don't  believe  you 
ever  think  of  your  career,  where  I'm  concerned !  " 

The  others,  returning,  interrupted  us,  and  I  had  not 
received  my  answer. 

•  ••••••  • 

I  listen  to  every  sentence  of  Roger's  with  such  eager- 
ness that  my  intensity  often  makes  me  cry.  Then  I  twist 
and  turn  his  words  to  make  them  mean  something  com- 
forting for  me. 

Today,  Mrs.  Everard  has  gone  to  stay  with  a  friend 
outside  Paris.  As  I  was  making  ready  for  bed  tonight, 
the  murmur  of  voices  came  in  through  the  curtains. 

"  Where's  Phyllis?  "  asked  Bruce. 

"  She  was  tired  and  has  gone  to  bed,"  replied  Roger. 
From  his  tone  I  don't  believe  he  raised  his  eyes  from  his 
paper. 

"  She  must  have  been  very  tired  to  go  to  bed  at  this 
hour,"  said  Maxey. 

"  Perhaps,"  was  all  Roger  said. 

He  was  terse  and  noncommittal.  I  could  not  have 
spoken  of  him  in  such  a  manner. 

After  a  time  of  silence,  Maxey  blurted  out,  "  I  say, 
Roger,  do  you  know  the  man  in  America  whom  Phyllis  is 
fond  of?  You  ought  to  know  something  about  her:  you 
knew  her  before  we  did." 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know,  Kid?"  was  Roger's  lazy 
reply. 

Another  silence. 

"  Because,"  and  I  heard  Maxey  walking  up  and  down 
the  room,  "  I'd  give  anything  to  marry  her  myself.  But 


202  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

she  said  she  couldn't:  there  was  someone  else  in 
America." 

I  listened  with  every  nerve  strained.  Would  Roger 
stand  up  for  me  and  tell  the  other  two  what  he  hadn't  told 
me, —  that  he  loved  me  ? 

There  was  a  pause  before  the  next  words  came,  and  then 
Maxey  said: 

"  She's  the  only  girl  I  could  ever  care  for.  She'd  be 
the  making  of  me.  Confound  that  other  chap !  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  never  going  to  get  married, 
Maxey  ?  "  broke  in  Roger.  I  detected  a  huskiness  in  his 
voice. 

"  Oh,  I've  said  so,"  went  on  the  boy ;  "  but  I  was  a  fool, 
a  bally  fool.  Phyllis  wouldn't  be  doing  badly  in  marrying 
me.  I  shall  have  pots  of  money  one  day,  and  a  title,  and 
most  girls  like  that  sort  of  thing." 

I  waited  in  vain  for  Roger  to  speak. 

"  You've  asked  her,  you  say  ?  "  This  was  from  Bruce. 
There  was  a  tone  of  curiosity,  almost  amusement,  in  hi* 
voice. 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  replied  the  boy  shortly.  "  She  said  she 
was  fond  of  the  other  fellow." 

"  Then  take  her  word  for  it,"  snapped  Roger,  and  I 
could  hear  him  nervously  turning  the  pages  of  his  book. 

No  one  spoke  after  that.  Maxey  went  to  the  piano  and 
began  to  pound  out  a  popular  love  ditty. 

I'm  wondering,  in  a  dreary  way,  if  all  men  are  alike  as 
far  as  women  are  concerned?  But  then  there  is  Bruce! 
I'm  thinking  specifically  about  him. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

I  WAITED  yesterday  for  the  opportunity  to  get  a 
word  alone  with  Roger.  It  came  after  luncheon 
when  the  others  had  gone  out  and  I  was  arranging 
some  flowers. 

"  Roger,"  I  said,  "  do  you  want  to  see  me  married  to 
Maxey?  " 

I  had  to  fuss  among  Bruce's  flowers  a  long  time  before 
Roger  blurted  out: 

"No!     Of  course  not!" 

His  denial  comforted  me  a  little.  I  came  to  him  and 
sat  on  his  knee. 

"  Dearest,"  I  pleaded,  forcing  him  to  look  at  me,  "  do 
you  respect  me  ?  " 

He  started  and  made  a  movement  to  put  me  down. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me,"  I  insisted,  hanging  to  his  neck. 

"  Don't  ask  questions,"  he  answered,  with  a  ghost  of  a 
smile. 

"  But,  Roger,  it  is  so  much  to  me !  I  want  to  know  if 
—  if  you  respect  me." 

He  knocked  an  ash  from  his  cigar.  "  Well,  I  hardly 
know  what  you  mean.  If  you  want  to  know  whether  I 
should  miss  you,  whether  I  need  you,  I've  told  you  that 
before.  If  you  think  you  could  go  out  of  my  life  and 
not  have  me  care,  you're  mistaken.  You  can't  talk  of 
respect  in  connection  with  a  woman  who  is  as  near  to 
me  as  you  are.  One  respects  a  woman  who  is  on  a  pedes- 
tal; not—" 

"  Not  a  woman  who  has  flung  herself  at  your  feet ! "  I 
cried  bitterly. 


204  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

I  detected  an  expression  that  men  bear  when  they  dread 
a  scene.  I  jumped  up  quickly,  biting  my  lip  to  keep  back 
the  tears.  I  could  hear  Roger  fidgeting  under  my  silence, 
and  finally  he  got  up  and  said: 

"  WdJ,  Phyllis,  I'm  going  out." 

He  hesitated  an  instant;  but,  as  I  neither  spoke  nor 
turned  my  head,  he  went  out  of  the  door  and  closed  it  be- 
hind him.  The  perfume  of  Bruce's  roses  accentuated  my 
aching  sense  of  desolation. 

»•••••*  • 

I've  been  again  to  see  Father  Beulais. 

"  I've  expected  you  every  day,"  he  remarked  quietly 
as  he  bade  me  sit  down.  "  Are  you  any  more  at  rest  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Poor  child!  Life  is  hard  for  you  —  just  now.  Did 
you  take  my  advice  and  tell  him?  " 

"  No,"  I  choked,  "  it  was  too  much  like  asking  him  to 
marry  me.  I  can't  do  that." 

"  You  should  have  done  so,"  observed  the  priest,  wrink- 
ling his  fine  brow.  "  He  has  sinned :  he  must  atone  for 
it." 

"  I  don't  want  him  to  atone  for  it  —  if  atoning  means 
that  he  must  sacrifice  himself  for  me.  I  want  him  to  marry 
me  because  of  myself,  because  he  wants  me  to  be  his 
wife." 

"  Yes,  I  see ;  but  the  child  is  the  instrument  through 
which  he  will  be  yours.  Men  are  not  utterly  devoid  of 
heart.  Besides,  you've  a  responsibility  toward  another 
soul  now." 

I  trembled  until  he  gave  me  a  drink  of  brandy,  which  I 
gulped  down  thankfully. 

"  I  can  think  of  nothing  so  awful  in  this  world,"  he  said 
deliberately  as  he  took  the  glass  from  my  hand,  "  as  for  a 
mother  to  receive  the  reproaches  of  a  child  brought  into 
the  world  without  a  name." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  205 

I  covered  my  eyes  to  shut  out  the  picture.  "  I  never 
thought  of  it  quite  like  that,"  I  returned  brokenly. 

To  this  moment  I  had  been  thinking  of  my  own  content- 
ment. The  priest  had  given  me  another  thought. 

Father  Beulais  looked  at  me  long  and  fixedly,  and  then 
sighed  as  he  paced  restlessly  up  and  down  the  room.  "  I 
think  you  are  suffering  without  cause,"  he  continued. 
"  Go  to  him  —  tell  him,"  and  he  looked  at  me  keenly, 
"  that  you  will  be  the  mother  of  his  child  in  — " 
"  Five  months,"  I  breathed. 

"  He  will  see  things  in  a  new  light.  Would  you  marry 
him  then  ?  " 

"  No !  "  I  said,  standing  up.  "  No,  not  so  long  as  the 
world  has  a  sun  and  a  moon !  I  could  marry  him  only  if 
he  needed  me,  not  when  I  need  him.  He  shall  never  save 
me  from  disgrace  out  of  pity!  If  I  were  well  and  happy, 
and  he  asked  me,  it  would  be  different." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  the  child?  "  asked  the 
priest  gravely. 

"  Love  it  —  shelter  it  —  and  —  oh,  oh,  work  for  it !  " 
"  Do  you  think  that  your  love  can  make  up  for  what  it 
will  lose, —  a  poor,  petty  love  in  exchange  for  a  name  and 
—  Heaven  ?  " 

"  Heaven ! "  I  cried.  "  I  shall  never  do  anything  to 
keep  my  child  out  of  Heaven." 

"  You  already  have,"  said  he,  "  and  that  is  how  you 
women  make  mistakes.  You  should  be  wholly  at  the 
mercy  of  this  man  —  God  willed  it !  Your  child  is  his  — 
and  his  name  should  be  yours.  Without  his  aid,  your 
child  will  never  see  the  light  of  God's  face ! " 

I  looked  at  him  stunned.     Would  the  fact  that  Roger 
and  I  became  man  and  wife  place  a  heavenly  crown  upon 
the  head  of  my  child?     I  turned  upon  the  priest  abruptly. 
"  Oh,  I  don't  understand  you." 
"  No,  of  course  not :  it  is  difficult." 


206  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

>_ 

He  took  a  book  from  the  shelf  and  ran  over  the  pages 
till  he  came  to  a  passage  which  he  marked  with  his  thumb. 
I  read  the  words  with  blurred  eyes.  Several  times  I 
brushed  the  tears  away  with  my  handkerchief. 

"  Then  —  if  —  my  child  is  born  out  of  —  wedlock  — " 

He  nodded  and  pointed  to  the  book,  and  I  read  on  and 
on. 

"  Then  every  child's  eternal  welfare  in  the  world,"  I 
said,  laying  the  Bible  on  the  table,  "  really  depends  upon 
its  father.  A  man  can  give  it  light  —  or  darkness !  " 

"  Yes :  hence  the  superiority  of  men.  Woman  in  the 
beginning  was  responsible  for  all  sin,  and  in  the  endless 
ages  through  which  this  world  must  revolve  she  has  to 
suffer  for  it.  You  are  no  exception  to  the  rule." 

"  Does  —  does  the  child  suffer  in  being  kept  out  of 
Heaven  ?  "  I  asked  dully. 

"  Not  any  more  than  any  soul  would  when  debarred 
from  the  light  of  God's  countenance." 

"  Is  there  any  penance  I  can  do  that  will  save  it?  " 

«  None." 

I  drew  a  long  breath.  I'm  so  mixed  up  in  religious 
ideas !  I'm  like  a  leaf  turning  to  every  wind  of  doctrine  — 
for  what?  The  priest  spoke  again  solemnly. 

"  If  it  lives  and  breathes  without  a  name,  then  as  surely 
as  you  sit  there,  as  surely  as  that  small  bird  on  the  branch 
of  yonder  tree  breathes,  sings,  and  fulfils  the  destiny  that 
God  intended  it  should,  just  so  surely  will  that  child 
never  — " 

I  lost  his  last  words.  My  eyes  wandered  to  the  little 
bird.  It  swung  to  and  fro  on  the  slender  twig,  twittering 
happily  to  its  mate  on  the  limb  above.  They  needed  noth- 
ing but  the  pure  air,  the  open  sky,  the  love  of  life, — 
aye,  life  itself, —  to  fulfill  their  instincts. 

The  priest  divined  the  drift  of  my  thought.  "  They 
were  made  for  the  gratification  of  man,  like  all  inferior 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  307 

creation,"  he  observed.  "  We  are  of  a  race  apart.  God 
must  have  intelligent  beings  to  worship  him  —  He  will 
have  no  stain  upon  His  angelic  host.  When  souls  have 
been  purified  by  the  Church,  they  are  ready  for  His  pres- 
ence. You  understand?  Your  child  would  not  be  fit  for 
that  presence ! " 

"  Is  it  possible  that  a  just  God  could  bar  an  innocent 
soul  from  Heaven  for  a  sin  it  never  committed?  " 

The  priest  lifted  one  hand  and  glanced  at  me  forbid- 
dingly. "  The  ways  of  the  Almighty  are  inscrutable," 
said  he. 

"  You  say  that  if  it  lives  and  breathes,"  I  brought  out, 
after  a  moment.  "  Suppose  it  never  —  lives  ?  What  — 
if  —  I  —  were  —  to  —  kill  —  myself  —  now?  " 

A  look  of  horror  spread  over  his  face.  He  clutched  at 
the  beads  hanging  to  his  side  and  began  to  say  them  over 
hastily.  I  heard  "  Hail  Mary  "  several  times ;  but  I  took 
no  interest  in  the  prayers. 

With  misty  eyes,  I  watched  the  two  little  birds  chirping 
to  each  other  in  innocent  coquetry,  fluttering  from  branch 
to  branch.  Then  I  realized  that  the  priest  had  sat  down 
beside  me.  As  he  took  my  hand,  I  saw  how  pale  he  had 
become. 

"  You  would  not  dare ! "  he  muttered. 

"  But  if  the  child  doesn't  live,  it  can't  be  deprived  of 
light.  What  good  to  give  it  life,  hope,  and  love,  and 
then  consign  it  to  darkness  ?  "  I  asked  bitterly. 

"  The  man  can  save  you  both,  if  you  will  but  yield  a 
little." 

"  He  doesn't  want  me,"  I  sobbed.  "  Oh,  he  doesn't  want 
me!" 

"  Pride ! "  he  said  again,  bending  compelling  eyes  upon 
me  to  force  me  to  listen  to  his  reasoning.  "  That  is  noth- 
ing but  pride." 

"  I  had  rather  die  a  hundred  times  over,"  I  said  stub- 


208  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

bornly.  "  I  would !  I  would !  I  can't  tell  him  about 
it!" 

The  priest  spread  out  his  hands,  looked  into  the  palms, 
and  straightened  out  his  long  fingers.  "  Will  you  permit 
me  to  tell  him?"  he  asked  after  a  pause.  "Oh,  I  shaO 
help  you,"  he  went  on  with  growing  eagerness,  "  and  re- 
lieve you  if  I  can.  You  will  allow  me  to  tell  him,  won't 
you?" 

I  was  suddenly  conscious  that  I  could  not  discuss  it  a 
moment  longer,  and  rose  to  my  feet. 

"  I  do  thank  you,  Father  Beulais,"  I  exclaimed,  ex- 
tending my  hand,  "  and  —  and  I  will  think  it  over." 

What  mattered  the  little  prevarication  compared  with 
what  I  intended  to  do?  He  himself  had  unconsciously 
pointed  out  the  only  way  of  escape  for  me.  Physical 
death  was  a  little  thing  compared  to  the  mental  agony  I 
was  enduring. 

•  ••••••• 

I  wondered  as  I  wearily  entered  our  little  flat  whether 
Roger  would  care  when  he  heard  what  I  had  done.  He 
was  alone  when  I  arrived. 

Boyishly  he  grasped  my  hands.  "  Phyllis,  I  was  be- 
ginning to  worry  about  you.  Where  in  the  world  have 
you  been  ?  You  look  tired,  Child !  " 

He  little  knew  the  feelings  that  dominated  me.  I  had 
resolved  to  take  this  step  into  the  dark,  and  his  conscience 
should  suffer  no  more  on  my  behalf.  He  lifted  my  head, 
kissed  me,  and  smiled. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  laughing  a  little  ruefully,  "  that  Bruce 
has  sent  you  in  some  more  flowers.  I'll  soon  be  jealous 
of  him.  He  likes  you  immensely,  Phyllis.  After  dinner 
I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  he  added. 

I  took  the  roses  up  and  buried  my  nose  in  them.  As 
Donna  came  in  and  began  to  lay  the  cloth,  I  rushed  to  my 
room,  not  trusting  mj-self  to  speak. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  209 

At  dinner  I  toyed  with  my  food,  sending  the  plate  away 
untouched.  Bruce  noticed  it,  and  rebuked  me  by  a  silent 
glance.  He  will  make  a  capital  husband  for  some  girl 
who  wants  to  be  cared  for  in  that  sweet,  quiet  way  of 
his. 

Roger's  mother,  who  had  just  returned  from  her  brief 
absence,  was  so  absorbed  in  recounting  the  incidents  of 
her  visit  to  her  son  that  she  also  ate  very  little.  Roger 
devoted  himself  to  her. 

Maxey  turned  to  me  sullenly.  "  I'm  going  to  Eng- 
land, Phyllis,"  he  said,  "  to  see  my  people.  The  mater 
wants  me." 

I  wondered  involuntarily  what  he  would  say  if  he  were 
going  to  see  his  real  mother. 

"  What,  Max?  "  exclaimed  Roger.  "  Are  you  going  to 
break  up  the  faithful  three?  " 

"  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer.  What's  the  use?  I 
hate  Paris,  anyway !  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  devoted  to  it,"  drawled  Bruce. 

"  I'm  tired  of  it  now,"  said  Max,  looking  at  me  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  It's  all  your  fault." 

I'm  afraid  I  paid  little  attention  to  his  accusing  glance. 

"  Oh,  Maxey,"  cried  Mrs.  Everard,  "  don't  go  until  I'm 
ready !  I  do  want  to  visit  our  friends  there,  and  you  know 
how  I  dread  traveling  alone.  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  stay 
here  forever." 

"  Forever  wouldn't  be  long  enough  for  me  to  be  with 
you,  Mater  mine,"  Roger  murmured.  "  Besides,  I  have  a 
very  special  reason  for  wanting  you  to  stay,  and  Max  too. 
I  may  go  with  you." 

Something  curious  in  the  glance  he  threw  me,  half 
furtive,  half  pleading,  gave  me  a  sensation  of  foreboding. 
What  could  his  reason  be?  He  had  kept  it  a  secret  from 
me.  I've  felt  shut  out  of  his  counsel  lately.  There  came 
over  me  a  realization  that  there  might  be  no  next  week, 


210  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

«o  far  as  I  was  concerned.     I  left  the  table  with  an  ex- 
cuse, and  when  Roger  asked  me  where  I  was  going  I  said : 

"  To  the  pharmacy." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  he  called ;  but  I  replied : 

"  No,  I  had  rather  go  alone." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WHEN  I  returned  from  the  chemist's,  I  noticed 
that   Roger's    mother   glanced   quickly    at   me 
as    I   passed    through    the    salon   to    my    own 
room.     As  I  gained  it,  I  saw  that  she  had  followed  me 
in.     I  hastily  concealed  the  little  vial  I  held  in  my  fingers. 

"  Phyllis  dear,  I  hope  you  won't  think  I'm  intruding," 
she  said  in  a  low  voice ;  "  but  you  look  ill  and  unhappy. 
Won't  you  confide  in  me?  " 

She  sat  down  beside  me  on  the  bed,  and  in  sheer  loneli- 
ness of  spirit  I  let  my  head  fall  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  There  now,  cry,  cry !  It'll  do  you  good,  Child,"  she 
whispered. 

I  could  no  more  have  stopped  the  rush  of  tears  than  I 
could  have  turned  the  River  Seine  from  its  course  with  my 
hands. 

During  the  silence  that  followed,  Maxey's  voice,  as  he 
read  from  the  evening  paper,  floated  in  through  the  por- 
tiere. 

"  Last  night  at  ten  o'clock  a  terrible  tragedy  occurred," 
he  drawled  in  a  singsong  tone.  "  A  young  workwoman 
abandoned  by  her  lover  was  found  dead  in  the  river — " 
Maxey's  voice  grew  indistinct. 

I  listened  mechanically,  Mrs.  Everard  stroking  my  hair 
with  motherly  tenderness. 

"  Poor  thing ! "  commented  Max,  raising  his  tones 
again.  "  I  suppose  the  prospect  of  disgrace  unhinged  her 
mind." 

"  She  sinned  without  counting  the  cost,"  Roger's  voic« 
said.  "  It's  a  pity  that  women  will  do  that." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

I  thought  I  felt  the  hand  on  my  head  tremble  for  an  in- 
stant and  stay  its  caressing  motion. 

"  By  the  way  you  talk,  Roger,"  put  in  Bruce,  "  one 
would  think  that  the  girl  did  all  the  sinning." 

*'  It's  expected  of  a  woman  to  be  purer  than  a  man,'* 
Roger  broke  forth  impatiently.  "  She's  not  expected  to 
yield  to  temptation.  If  she  does,  it's  one  of  the  Creator's 
laws  that  she  must  take  the  consequences.  As  I've  said 
before,  that  was  intended  from  the  beginning." 

"  Good  God ! "  exclaimed  Bruce,  moving  his  chair  back- 
ward. "  That's  not  fair  nor  just.  For  instance,  a  girl 
may  be  young,  or  she  may  love  a  man  devotedly." 

"  Nevertheless,"  replied  Roger  obstinately,  "  the 
woman's  mission  is  to  uphold  purity.  It  has  never  been 
asked  of  the  man.  In  my  opinion,  and  I  know  that  many 
conservative  fellows  think  the  same  way,  the  woman  is 
responsible  for  the  man's  fallen  position  in  the  world." 

"  Hell !  "  snapped  Bruce. 

The  dropping  of  a  pin  could  have  been  heard  in  the 
stillness.  Presently  Roger  broke  forth: 

"  They've  certainly  placed  us  in  direct  disharmony 
with  the  peace  that  God  intended  for  us,  Bruce.  Don't 
be  a  fool  and  argue  for  the  equality  of  the  sexes.  It's 
ridiculous !  No  wonder  that  all  good  men  kill  the  serpent 
and  ostracize  the  woman  who  —  who  dares  !  By  her  own 
indiscretion,  woman  has  become  absolutely  subservient  to 
man." 

There  was  dead  silence  for  a  moment,  followed  by  an 
oath  from  Bruce  and  an  indignant  exclamation  from 
Max. 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  say,  Roddy,"  cried  the  latter 
in  a  high,  boyish  voice,  "  if  a  woman  suffers,  the  man 
oughtn't  to  go  scot  free." 

A  faintness  crept  over  me  as  I  listened.  And  Roger 
was  the  man  into  whose  arms  I  had  gone  with  such  faith ! 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  813 

This  night  has  taught  me  all  of  man's  arrogance.  I've 
felt  his  grinding  heel  upon  my  head,  and  here  in  secret 
I  rebelliouslj  proclaim  man  master  of  the  world.  It  would 
be  an  absolute  physical  impossibility  for  a  woman  to  dev- 
astate a  man's  life  as  Roger  has  mine.  Involuntarily  I 
clutched  Mrs.  Everard's  arm.  Her  face  was  as  bloodless 
as  mine. 

"  In  the  case  of  this  poor  thing,"  Bruce  took  up  in  deep 
tones,  "  if  she  sinned, —  and,  mind  you,  I  don't  say  she 
did,  but  if  she  did, —  then  it's  atoned  for.  She's  dead, 
anyway,"  and  he  rustled  a  paper. 

I  heard  Roger  pacing  the  room.  "  I  must  have  been 
brought  up  wrongly,"  he  said ;  "  but  my  mother  taught 
me  that  a  woman's  path  lay  among  the  flowers  of  virtue. 
It's  an  ordinance  of  nature  that  a  woman  must  pay  the 
price  of  sin." 

I  have  come  to  a  dreadful  decision, —  if  something, 
something  as  much  his  as  mine,  did  not  hold  me  to  Roger 
just  now,  I  should  hate  him. 

"  You're  a  strange  sort  of  Christian,"  muttered 
Maxey.  "  I  thought  your  religion  taught  forgiveness. 
Now,  to  Bruce  and  me,  the  girl  in  the  paper  here,"  and 
he  tapped  it  with  his  finger,  making  an  audible  sound, 
"  to  Bruce  and  me,"  he  repeated,  "  it's  apparent  that  poor 
soul  needed  just  this  experience  in  the  process  of  perfec- 
tion." 

"Rubbish!"  ejaculated  Roger.  "Nonsense!  With 
that  confounded  doctrine,  you'd  sweep  away  all  the  evi- 
dences of  ancient  history  and  the  Bible.  For  my  part, 
I'm  satisfied  with  the  teachings  of  the  Church,  and  the  de- 
cision of  the  commentators."  Roger  moved  to  a  chair 
as  he  delivered  his  doctrine. 

"  It  would  be  a  hell  of  a  world,"  said  Bruce,  "  if  we 
tried  to  follow  the  advice  of  dizzy  commentators,"  and, 
lowering  his  voice,  went  on,  "  It  seems  to  me,  Roger,  that, 


214  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

with  your  ideas  of  woman  and  her  unpardonable  sin,  you 
do  away  with  the  necessity  of  the  Cross,  which  is  your 
only  stronghold.  Again,  what  troubles  me  in  your  argu- 
ment, conceding  that  the  woman  alone  has  to  pay,  is  the 
question  of  the  child.  The  little  child  is  innocent." 

Mrs.  Everard  drew  a  long  breath.  She  leaned  over  ea- 
gerly to  catch  Roger's  next  words. 

"  Children  like  that  must  curse  the  day  they  are  born !  " 
He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  burst  in  impetuously,  "  I 
should  have  to  see  the  serpent  clinging  to  the  Cross  of 
Christ  before  I  would  admit  that  such  a  child  could  enter 
Heaven !  "  His  voice  rising  high  at  this  juncture,  he  con- 
tinued deliberately,  "  The  Bible  says  that  such  a  child  can't 
live  among  God's  children." 

A  shudder  ran  through  Mrs.  Everard's  body.  Her 
tenseness  told  me  that  she  was  listening  with  as  much 
avidity  as  I. 

Bruce  still  maintained  his  ground.  "  I  have  yet  to  dis- 
cover proof  of  your  proverbial  Heaven,  with  its  harps  and 
the  like.  If  there  was  anything  in  the  world  that  would 
disprove  orthodoxy  to  me,  Roger,  it's  an  argument  like 
yours.  A  child,  a  poor  helpless  little  thing,  with  no 
say  as  to  coming  into  the  world!  I  believe  the  more  it 
suffers  at  the  hands  of  others,  the  greater  will  be  its  re- 
ward. At  any  rate,  that  rot  you're  talking  was  the  old 
Mosaic  law.  Done  away  with  hundreds  of  years  ago." 

Roger  snapped  up  the  last  sentence  of  Bruce's  ejacula- 
tion and  replied,  "  If  that's  the  old  law,  so  is  '  Thou  shalt 
not  steal ! '  *  Thou  shalt  not  kill ! '  What  was  sin  then  is 
sin  now.  Besides,  the  whole  civilized  world  agrees  that  the 
law  is  given  us  through  the  Bible.  When  the  Blessed  Book 
says  that  a  child  of  illegal  birth  shall  be  kept  from  the  con- 
gregation of  the  Lord,  then,  I  say,  I  have  authority  for 
my  beliefs." 

He  broke  off  his  argument,  being  interrupted  by  an 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  215 

oatH  from  Bruce;  but  caught  it  up  almost  immediately 
and  finished: 

"  In  my  mind,  the  woman  who  is  mother  to  such  a  child 
has  committed  the  unpardonable  sin ;  for  to  condemn  an- 
other to  eternal  loneliness  is  unpardonable." 

Neither  of  the  others  had  interrupted;  but  Bruce  got 
up  when  Roger  ceased  speaking: 

"  Roger,  you  insufferable  religionist  1 "  came  his  deep 
tones.  "  Damn  it !  when  a  woman's  hurt,  body  and  soul, 
can't  you  forgive  her;  just  say,  '  God  bless  you!'  and  let 
her  go?  " 

Roger  said  something  I  couldn't  catch;  but  his  next 
words  were  desperately  uttered.  "  No,  no  I  If  God  won't 
forgive  her,  neither  will  I.  That  kind  of  a  sin  God 
damns ! " 

Mrs.  Everard  got  to  her  feet,  pressing  her  hands  over 
her  face.  I  stood  beside  her,  wild-eyed. 

"  You're  ill,"  I  exclaimed,  and  I  helped  her  to  her  room. 
I  didn't  wait  to  speak  with  her.  I  was  persuaded  then  that 
she  knew! 

Back  into  my  own  chamber  I  rushed  with  burning  anger 
in  my  heart.  In  his  virtuous  self-importance,  Roger  was 
hateful  to  me.  Life  wasn't  worth  a  tithe  of  what  it  had 
been  when  I  had  walked  by  the  river  that  long-ago  night, 
clutching  the  five-franc  piece. 

I  stood  at  the  window  with  clenched  fists.  Suddenly 
I  felt  a  touch  on  my  arm,  and  looking  up  saw  Roger  him- 
self. I  turned  again,  so  he  would  not  notice  my  ex- 
pression. 

"  Confound  those  fellows  !  "  he  growled.  "  I  was  hoping 
they  would  go  out!  They're  always  getting  me  into  a 
discussion  that  makes  me  lose  my  temper."  Then,  laugh- 
ing a  little  ruefully,  he  added,  "  I  think  I'm  too  orthodox 
for  them,  that's  all.  I  came  because  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
something,  Phyllis." 


216  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

I  turned  and  faced  him. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Child?"  he  cried,  catching 
me  in  his  arms.  "  I  wanted  this  to  be  the  happiest  evening 
in  our  lives.  You  know  how  miserable  I've  been  lately, 
Dear.  I've  fancied  that  you've  been  unhappy,  too.  I've 
been  thinking  it  all  over.  Do  you  think,  if  you  married 
me,  it  would  spoil  your  career,  Dearest?  " 

The  room  whirled.  The  lights  flashed,  and  then  seemed 
to  go  out.  I  dragged  at  my  collar  for  breath.  On  the 
dressing  table  near  the  mirror  lay  the  little  vial  I  had  in- 
tended to  empty.  In  the  street  a  cabby  yelled  at  his 
horse,  and  a  hawker  shrieked  her  wares  in  a  high,  boy- 
like  voice.  The  long-wished-for  moment  had  come!  I 
forgot  his  bigoted  words  a  little  time  before.  Roger  was 
himself  again !  He  was  my  lover-husband,  my  own,  the 
better  half  of  myself!  All  the  anxiety  that  had  rent  my 
soul  in  the  last  five  months  melted  away.  Truly,  as  the 
priest  had  said,  a  man  holds  for  a  woman  who  has  dared 
sin  the  entrance  into  all  things  good.  He  released  me  for 
a  moment  and  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket. 

"  You'll  forgive  me,  Darling,  won't  you  ?  "  he  demanded, 
leaning  over  me.  "  Look  at  this  paper,  Love.  It's  a 
special  license  for  our  marriage  in  London.  It's  sudden, 
I  know,  Sweet;  but  you  won't  refuse  me!  I  need  you! 
I  want  my  wife!  Why  don't  you  answer,  Phyllis?  Oh, 
you  will  — " 

I  realized  the  import  of  the  one  word  "  marriage,"  and 
lost  the  rest  in  unconsciousness.  When  my  senses  re- 
turned, Roger  was  still  talking  with  a  touch  of  uneasi- 
ness. 

"  After  I  had  decided  upon  our  future,  I  couldn't  wait 
to  get  your  consent.  But  speak  to  me,  Phyllis!  Why 
do  you  look  so  strange? "  He  was  pleading  with  the 
oldtime  passion.  "  Phyllis,  you'll  never  know  how  I've 
fought  with  myself  over  this  thing.  I  realized  what  your 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  217 

career  meant  to  you,  and  I've  had  certain  ambitions  my- 
self; but  we  can  work  together,  can't  we?  " 

I  slipped  my  arms  about  his  big  waist.  "  What  is  my 
career  or  the  whole  world  compared  to  you,  Roger?  " 

He  laughed  happily.  "  Then,  come  along  and  let's  tell 
Mother  and  the  boys.  Where  is  she?  " 

I  was  able  only  to  form  the  next  words.  "  You  tell 
them,  Roger ;  then  come  back  to  me." 

He  ran  into  Mrs.  Everard's  room,  and  I  heard  him 
say: 

"Why,  Mater  mine,  in  bed?  I've  a  piece  of  news  for 
you.  Tomorrow,  you,  Phyllis,  Bruce,  Max,  and  I  are 
going  to  London,  where  Phyllis  and  I  are  to  be  married. 
What  do  you  think  of  that?  Sudden,  isn't  it?  " 

I  heard  Mrs.  Everard  murmur  in  choked  tones,  "  Roger, 
Roger,  my  darling !  " 

Picking  up  the  vial  of  poison,  I  flung  it  with  a  glad 
gesture  far  into  the  night.  In  another  instant  Roger  was 
back  at  my  side. 

"Isn't  this  a  happy  night?"  he  breathed.  "I  shall 
make  you  glad  when  you  have  married  me,  Phyllis  dar- 
ling!" 

I  laughed  in  such  glee  that  Roger  joined  in.  Just 
then  the  bell  rang,  and  I  heard  Donna  plod  along  the 
hall  to  open  the  door. 

"  Postman,"  laughed  Roger.  "  A  bunch  of  home  let- 
ters would  top  off  the  occasion  nicely,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"  Roger !  "  called  Maxey  from  the  next  room. 

"  Coming  in  a  minute,  Max,"  replied  Roger,  and  I  has- 
tily interposed: 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you  tonight,  dear  heart." 

"  Roger ! "  Max  shouted  again,  this  time  impatiently. 
"  Come  here  a  minute,  anyhow,"  and  with  another  kiss 
Roger  left  me ;  but  halted  upon  the  threshold  to  add : 

"  Come  along  with  me,  Phyllis !  " 


218  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

I  paused  a  second  to  gain  my  composure,  and  then 
parted  the  curtains  and  followed  him.  A  faint,  sweet 
thrill  of  life,  like  the  coming  and  going  of  an  angel's 
breath,  like  a  tiny  flutter  of  a  baby  bird's  wing  in  the 
spring,  just  one  wild,  exquisite  sensation  of  passionate  up- 
lifting, and  Roger's  babe  gave  its  first  slight  quiver  under 
my  heart. 

"  Phyllis,  you're  ill ! "  I  heard  Bruce  say  —  and  as  I 
turned  I  came  face  to  face  with  Lady  Jane  Grey ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

I  HAD  the  dull  feeling  that  Lady  Jane  Grey  looked  very 
beautiful.  A  long  gown,  fitting  closely  about  her 
hips,  fell  to  her  feet.  The  fair  face  was  shrouded 
by  masses  of  hair,  parted  on  one  side  of  the  low  forehead. 
An  expression  I  knew  well  imparted  a  sarcastic  droop  to 
the  babyish  mouth.  From  under  the  heavy  lids  the  vel- 
vety eyes  gazed  straight  into  mine.  I  was  still  huddled 
up  against  the  curtains,  and  Roger,  as  though  stunned, 
made  no  movement  toward  me.  Maxey  still  sat  at  the  ta- 
ble, while  Bruce  stood  close  to  Lady  Jane. 

An  expectant  hush  pervaded  the  room.  It  seemed  that 
some  supernatural  power  kept  us  all  from  speaking.  I 
still  clung  convulsively  to  the  hangings,  unable  to  find 
words.  Lady  Jane  advanced  toward  me  with  the  lithe 
motion  of  a  panther,  her  eyes  devouring  me  from  head  to 
foot.  She  halted  in  a  direct  line  with  Roger. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  mon  Dleu!  Eet's  the  American  cocotte!  " 
she  exclaimed  in  broken  English. 

A  vertigo  seized  me,  a  haze  gathered  over  my  vision. 

"  American  cocotte ! "  she  repeated.  "  You  lif  here 
now?" 

Roger  was  the  first  to  assert  authority  and  presence  of 
mind.  "  Go  to  your  room,  Phyllis ! "  said  he,  and  there 
was  protection  in  his  voice. 

Sick  with  apprehension,  I  turned  to  go. 

"  Stop ! "  ordered  Lady  Jane  Grey.  "  You  not  go 
yet!" 

And,  as  if  the  master  voice  demanded  my  presence,  I 
halted,  turning  my  eyes  on  Roger  in  mute  appeal.  Maxey 

219 


220  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

wlu'rled  to  leave  the  room;  but  changed  his  mind  and  re- 
mained staring  fixedly  at  the  table. 

Bruce  Stewart  took  a  step  nearer  to  me.  I  glanced  at 
him  —  and  he  seemed  to  have  grown  taller  and  straighter. 
Forgetting  Roger  for  a  moment,  I  instinctively  moved  to- 
ward Bruce,  feeling  in  my  helpless  terror  that  his  strength 
was  mine. 

"  Go  to  your  room,  Phyllis ! "  Roger  ordered  again. 

"  No,  let  the  leetle  American  cocotte  stay,"  Lady  Jane 
said  sneeringly.  "  Everyone  knows  the  pretty  American 
cocotte  on  Boulevard  St.  Michel." 

She  turned  her  vicious,  sleepy  eyes  from  Roger  to  me, 
and  then  back  again  from  me  to  Roger.  His  face  dark- 
ened with  anger. 

"  Jane,"  he  said,  speaking  in  French,  "  I  told  you 
never  to  come  to  my  rooms.  I've  done  all  I  can  for  you. 
I  can  do  no  more.  You  must  go  now.  I  am  going  to 
marry  Miss  Fitzpatrick,"  he  concluded,  motioning  toward 
me. 

"  Feetzpatrick  ?  How  many  name  American  cocotte 
got?  Feetzpatrick  not  her  name  on  Boulevard  St.  Michel. 
You  said  American  men  took  good  women  to  be  their  wives 
—  to  be  mothers  of  their  children." 

Again  came  the  thrill  near  my  heart;  again  a  wave  of 
physical  nausea  swept  over  me. 

"  That  is  true,  I  have  said  it,"  Roger  answered,  "  and 
that  is  the  reason  I  am  going  to  marry  Miss  Fitzpatrick." 

Maxey  coughed  nervously.     Bruce  drew  a  quick  breath. 

"  But  you  choose  cocotte,  and  not  good  woman,"  said 
Lady  Jane  with  a  little  shrug. 

"That's  enough,  Jane,"  Bruce  cried  hotly.  "You 
leave  this  house  instantly!  Instantly,  do  you  hear?  " 

If  she  would  but  obey  Bruce's  command!  If  I  could 
only  get  Roger  away  before  she  told  him  any  more ! 

Jane  threw  back  her  head  with  an  equally  angry  ges- 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

ture.  "  Ask  Mademoiselle  if  she  not  Donnez  moi  un  ca- 
deau  cocotte  for  many,  many  months." 

"  You're  mistaken,  Jane,"  said  Roger,  controlling  him- 
self with  difficulty.  "  You  must  go  at  once !  " 

The  sleepiness  had  died  in  her  eyes,  she  was  a  blazing 
tigress.  "  Ask  the  white-faced  pig !  "  she  insisted.  "  Ask 
her !  Ask  her ! " 

Roger  turned  to  me  expectantly.  Bruce  stood  rigid  as 
a  statue.  His  face  wore  a  look  of  consternation  that 
changed  the  gold  in  his  eyes  to  brown.  Try  as  I  would,  I 
could  neither  move  nor  utter  a  word. 

"  You  do  not  speak,  American  cocotte !  Tell  them,  tell 
them,  Pig!" 

She  advanced  toward  me  with  a  threatening  gesture; 
but  Bruce  intervened  with: 

"  You  get  to  hell  out  of  here  damn  quick !  " 

"  Phyllis,"  Roger's  voice  had  a  shaken  note  in  it, 
"  deny  it  to  her  face !  Why,  it's  perfectly  absurd !  Of 
course  she's  lying !  " 

Jane  turned  on  him.  "  I  do  not  lie,"  she  snarled  in 
smooth  French.  "  I  don't  lie !  When  you  used  to  come 
and  see  me,  Mademoiselle  lived  in  the  rooms  beside  mine. 
She  lived  there  for  many  months,  and  got  much  money 
just  like  the  rest  of  us." 

An  exclamation  broke  from  Maxey.  "  Heavenly 
Father !  She  is  speaking  the  truth !  "  he  burst  out.  "  I 
remember  now  where  —  I  —  heard  —  your  —  voice !  It 
has  always  puzzled  me.  It  was  you  who  took  me  to  that 
house,  where  the  woman  who  smelled  of  patchouli  bathed 
my  eyes."  His  voice  broke  into  a  sob.  "  You've  de- 
ceived me  as  well  as  Roger ! " 

A  storm  of  fury  shook  me  from  head  to  foot.  Trem- 
bling with  indignation  at  his  ingratitude  to  Zadie,  I  flung 
round  upon  him.  "  Yes,  it  was  I  who  saved  you  from  the 
soldiers ! "  I  loosened  my  grasp  on  the  curtains  and  came 


222  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

toward  him.  "  And  the  woman  —  you  ungrateful  kid !  — 
who  smelled  of  patchouli  is  your  own  mother!  She  wears 
a  miniature  of  your  father  that  might  be  you,  it  is  so  like, 
and  the  other  half  of  the  jade  ring  that  you  told  me  was 
buried  with  —  Rupert !  " 

A  profound  silence  followed  my  words.  Maxey  gaped 
at  me  in  bewilderment. 

"  You  told  me  once  about  the  love  affair  in  your  brother 
Rupert's  life  and  of  how  he  married  a  girl  not  his  equal," 
I  continued  with  deliberation.  "  He  was  your  father,  and 
not  Lord  Donnithorne,  while  the  woman  who  bathed  your 
eyes  is  your  mother.  Your  grandmother,  Lady  Donni- 
thorne, is  responsible  for  ruining  her  life  and  Rupert's ; 
for  it  was  she  who  drove  your  mother  into  the  boulevards 
of  Paris !  " 

For  an  infinitesimal  space  of  time  the  boy  stood  his 
ground  bravely,  fighting  the  proofs  that  crowded  in  upon 
him  from  the  past.  Then  he  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands  and  sank  into  a  chair. 

"  God !  God !  "  he  brought  out  with  a  gulp,  and,  rising 
to  his  feet  with  a  choking  sound,  blindly  stumbled  from 
the  room. 

It  was  thus  Max  received  his  death  sentence,  and  I 
turned  to  receive  mine. 

"  Roger,"  I  appealed,  "  listen  to  me,  and  I'll  tell  you 
all  —  everything." 

"  You  have  only  to  say  you  did  not  live  there,"  he  an- 
swered swiftly.  "  No  explanations  are  needed." 

The  agony  in  his  voice  spurred  me  to  speech. 
"Roger—" 

He  sprang  toward  me  with  a  wild  cry.  "  Deny  it !  "  he 
cried.  "  Deny  it,  or,  by  God  — "  His  arm  dropped  and 
his  voice  broke  in  a  sob  as  he  ended,  "  But  you  can't,  or 
you  wouldn't  hesitate !  " 

I  cowered  beneath  him  like  a  stricken  kitten.     Deny  it? 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

How  could  I?  I  couldn't  and  wouldn't  lie  to  him  again. 
By  my  very  inability  to  deny,  I  stood  convicted  before  him. 

"  Roger,"  I  began  weakly,  "  Roger  dear  — " 

"  Deny  it  for  God's  sake ! "  he  repeated  more  hoarsely 
than  before. 

I  faced  him  speechless,  shaking  from  head  to  foot. 
Contemptuously  he  looked  me  up  and  down,  with  swift, 
sure  glances  so  frigid  that  they  pierced  me.  Then  he 
spoke,  and  at  first  I  didn't  recognize  his  voice : 

"  So,  you're  the  woman  I've  loved !  You're  the  woman 
I've  trusted !  And  you're  the  woman  I've  almost  married ! 
You  with  your  baby  face,  your  caressing  temptation !  I 
— I'd  no  more  marry  you  than  I  would  walk  straight  into 
the  jaws  of  hell!  " 

A  satisfied  exclamation  escaped  Lady  Jane.  It  signi- 
fied nothing  that  Bruce  Stewart  ordered  her  again  to  go 
and  that  at  the  door  she  paused,  looked  back,  and  laughed 
a  low,  sensuous  laugh.  The  door  closed  after  her,  and  I 
was  left  alone  with  Roger  and  Bruce. 

Roger's  voice  was  still  speaking.  "  You  lied  to  me  like 
a  common  woman !  You  came  into  my  home  straight  from 
walking  the  boulevards !  My  God !  straight  from  a  co- 
cotte  house,  knowing  all  the  time  that  you  were  like  the 
others ! " 

"  No,  not  that ! "  I  cried  in  agony.  "  I  only  begged 
my  bread  like  other  homeless  women.  You've  never  known 
what  it  is  to  be  hungry,  Roger.  You  must  listen  to 
me!" 

An  intolerant  sparkle  held  Roger's  eyes.  "  I  will  not, 
Phyllis ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  You've  lied  to  me  ever  since 
you  came  here." 

Bruce  placed  his  hand  on  Roger's  arm.  "  Give  her  a 
chance  to  speak,  Roger.  Damn  it !  she  can  explain  —  I 
know  she  can !  Even  a  murderer  is  given  a  chance !  " 

"You  don't  know  how  I've  loved  her,  Stewart,     I've 


made  her  my  ideal,  and  my  ideal  was  a  woman  of  honor. 
She's  torn  my  self-respect  into  shreds.  Merciful  Christ  1 
I  remember  now ! "  and  he  brought  his  face  close  to  mine 
fiercely.  "  I  remember  now  —  you  did  say  Donnez  mol  un 
cadeau  to  me  when  I  met  you  that  first  night  — " 

I  well  remember  how  I  choked  for  breath,  how  the  light 
went  out  as  my  eyes  became  blind.  "  Roger,  Roger ! "  I 
moaned.  "  No  —  no  more  —  in  mercy  !  " 

"  Mercy,  mercy ! "  he  rapped  out.  "  Mercy  to  a  har- 
lot, a  begging  hussy  — " 

I  did  not  let  him  finish  his  sentence.  "  You're  the  cruel- 
est  man  God  ever  created ! "  I  screamed.  "  You  must 
hear!  You  shall!  You  shall  listen,  whether  you  wish  to 
or  not!  I  was  on  the  boulevards!  I  was  a  vagabond 
begging  for  a  crust  of  bread!  I  was  starving  for  days, 
and  freezing,  too !  I  did  say  those  words  to  you  when 
we  met!  I  did  live  in  the  rooms  next  to  Lady  Jane's! 
And  I  did  prowl  the  streets  of  Paris  at  night,  asking  for 
money !  But  no  other  man  has  ever  kissed  my  lips  be- 
sides you !  My  soul  and  body  are  sacred  to  you ;  for 
Boulevard  St.  Michel  left  me  without  a  stain!  In  your 
heart  you  know  this !  You've  explained  to  your  satisfac- 
tion the  unpardonable  sin,  and  in  your  egotism  placed  your 
own  creed  in  the  mouth  of  God!  But  you  lie  when  you 
say  that  Christ  hasn't  atoned  for  sins  like  mine !  You  lie ! 
You  say  your  ideal  was  an  ideal  of  honor!  Are  most 
women  tempted  as  I  have  been?  Do  they  tramp  the 
streets  of  Paris  day  after  day  looking  for  work?  Do 
they  need  bread?  If  there  is  such  a  woman,  may  she 
pray  God  to  leave  her  on  the  boulevards,  rather  than  place 
her  into  the  arms  of  the  man  she  loves!"  I  caught  my 
breath  in  a  spasm  of  pain.  "  You  say  you  will  not  marry 
me !  You  know  that  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  we  have  been 
married !  And  —  and  I  want  to  know  —  what  you're 
going  to  say  to  the  Christ  you  pretend  to  worship  when 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  225 

He  asks  you  about  your  little  child  I  shall  be  mother  of 
in  —  five  months  !  " 

A  groan  fell  from  Bruce  Stewart,  and  Roger  dropped 
into  a  chair,  and  they  remained  silent  long  after  the  por- 
tieres had  closed  behind  me. 

I  went  to  the  window  in  my  own  room  and  rested  my 
head  on  the  sill,  my  eyes  following  the  dotted  trail  of 
lamps  that  lighted  the  street  below.  How  long  I  sat  there 
I  shall  never  know;  but  at  length  I  heard  heavy  footsteps 
and  felt  a  hand  upon  my  shoulder.  Looking  up,  I  saw 
Bruce  standing  near. 

"  Is  it  true  about  —  the —  child?  "  he  asked  huskily. 

I  nodded. 

"  I've  known  all  the  time  about  your  connections  with 
the  boulevards.  I  was  in  the  Cafe  D'Harcourt  when  you 
took  the  American  girl  away  from  those  scoundrels,  and 
—  and  then  I  followed  you  home.  After  that  I  recog- 
nized you  in  the  ballet  at  the  theater ;  but  you  did  not  come 
there  again,  for  I  waited  every  night  for  a  week."  I  felt 
his  arm  over  my  shoulder  tighten  convulsively.  "  I  would 
never  have  dreamed  that  any  woman  could  have  come  into 
my  life  and  change  it  as  you  have.  I  want  you  to  marry 
me,  Phyllis." 

Steadying  myself,  I  looked  into  his  face  —  it  shone 
with  exalted  love  and  yearning.  Under  the  warm,  leaping 
glow  of  his  eyes,  I  covered  my  own,  overwhelmed  by  his 
magnificent  generosity. 

"  Don't,  Bruce ! "  I  groaned.  "  For  God's  love,  don't ! 
You'll  kill  me,  I'm  sure!" 

He  gathered  me  up  for  an  instant  as  a  father  would  a 
suffering  child.  "  I  love  you,  poor  little  girl,  poor,  suf- 
fering baby ! " 

"  You're  offering  me  shelter ! "  I  sobbed. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  simply,  "  and  the  warmest  and  most 
protecting  love  a  man  can  give  a  woman."  He  stroked 


226  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

my  hair  with  trembling  fingers.  "  You  know,  Dear,  I've 
wanted  you  to  marry  me  for  a  long  time.  If  you  could 
only  have  loved  me  —  but,  of  course,  I  didn't  know  about 
you  and  Roger.  Phyllis,  you  need  me  more  now  than 
when  I  first  asked  you.  And  then  —  too  —  you  must 
think  of  —  the  —  little  chap  !  " 

I  shook  off  his  arm  and  stood  up.  "  Don't  talk  to  me 
any  more,  Bruce ! "  I  cried.  "  Go  away  and  leave  me 
alone ! " 

"  Phyllis,"  he  muttered,  leaning  over  me,  "I  —  could 
have  killed  Roger  for  what  he  said  1 " 

He  was  gone  in  an  instant.  At  length  I  roused  myself 
and  began  to  empty  the  cupboard  and  chest  of  drawers. 
My  one  idea  was  to  escape  from  the  house.  It  didn't  mat- 
ter where  I  went.  Within  a  few  hours  the  whole  world 
had  changed  twice, —  from  despair  to  gladness,  and  from 
gladness  to  —  this !  I  recall  that  I  was  kneeling  to  take 
a  bundle  of  papers  from  the  drawer,  when  I  was  aroused 
by  a  slight  sound  behind  me. 

Turning,  I  saw  Roger. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Phyllis  ?  "  he  asked  perempto- 
rily. 

For  a  moment  I  gave  him  no  answer,  and  then  burst  out, 
"  I'm  going  back  to  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel." 

"  You  can't  leave  tonight !  " 

"  You  are  not  able  to  prevent  me !  "  As  I  said  this,  I 
got  up  and  faced  him. 

"  I  can,  and  I  will !     I  have  the  authority !  " 

"You  denied  your  authority!" 

He  winced,  and  an  expression  of  agony  passed  over  his 
face.  I  tossed  handkerchiefs,  laces,  ribbons,  and  other 
feminine  frippery  in  reckless  confusion  into  my  trunk. 

Roger  spoke  again.  "  You  were  on  the  boulevards  for 
months?  " 

"  Yes." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  227 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"  I  tried  to ;  but  I  couldn't  —  of  course  I  couldn't !  1 
nearly  died  through  it  all." 

"  I  wish  you  had  died ! "  he  muttered.  "  I  wish  you 
had!.  Phyllis,  there  can't  be  the  slightest  excuse  for  you. 
I've  tried  to  pardon  you ;  but  I  can't ! " 

My  only  answer  was  to  fold  a  silk  skirt  and  place  it  in. 
my  trunk. 

"  You  might  as  well  save  yourself  the  trouble  of  pack- 
ing," he  said  frigidly ;  "  for  you're  not  going  tonight ! 
You've  heard  what  I  said,  Phyllis  —  you  can't  leave  to- 
night !  It's  at  least  my  duty  to  plan  your  future.  When 
I  spoke  as  I  did  just  now,  I  didn't  know  of  the  — " 

At  that  I  wheeled  on  him.  He  didn't  finish  the  sen- 
tence ;  for  a  very  devil  possessed  me.  I  have  no  recollec- 
tion of  what  I  said ;  but  it  must  have  been  something  awful, 
for  without  another  word  he  went  out,  drawing  the  cur- 
tains close  after  him. 


ZADIE  has  gone  to  bed.  How  little  I  thought,  when 
I  last  left  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel,  that  I  should 
ever  return  to  beg  a  night's  shelter  from  her  1 

As  soon  as  I  had  finished  my  packing,  I  put  on  my  out- 
door things  and  slipped  out  without  letting  either  Roger 
or  Bruce  hear  me.  In  the  hall  I  met  Donna ;  and  I  think 
from  her  sarcastic  smile  that  she  must  have  heard  every- 
thing, but  I  was  past  being  irritated  by  it.  She  had  al- 
ways resented  my  presence  in  the  flat. 

My  brain  was  aching  with  terrible  confusion  as  I  stepped 
out,  and  thought  of  that  day  when  Roger  and  I  came  up 
together  and  exchanged  our  first  kiss. 

As  I  turned  from  the  Place  St.  Michel  into  the  boule- 
vard, I  noticed  that  the  hands  of  the  illuminated  clock 
pointed  to  a  quarter  to  ten.  I  knew  that  it  would  have 
been  useless  to  look  for  Zadie  in  her  rooms ;  but  there  was 
a  chance  of  meeting  her  along  her  beat  on  the  boulevard, 
—  the  same  enticing,  lighted  boulevard  crowded  with 
pleasure-seekers  and  beautiful  women  who  laugh  away  the 
night  hours  and  sleep  out  their  days.  My  feet  were  too 
weary  to  carry  me  far,  and  I  stepped  into  a  large  cafe 
filled  with  students.  Dropping  into  a  seat  near  the  win- 
dow at  the  end  of  the  room,  I  determined  to  keep  my  eyes 
open  for  my  only  friend ;  for  I  knew  she  often  came  into 
this  particular  cafe  for  a  syrup.  It  was  all  familiar, — 
the  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke,  and  the  sea  of  human  faces, 
forbidding  and  dissipated.  Silent  groups  here  and  there 
bent  over  chessboards  and  pushed  the  ivory  men  to  and 
fro  upon  the  small  squares,  with  the  inevitable  "  check  — 
check." 

228 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  229 

In  one  corner  four  students  sang  ribald  songs,  shout- 
ing with  laughter  at  their  own  coarseness.  Life  on  the 
Boulevard  St.  Michel  had  taught  me  to  close  my  ears  to 
many  things, —  if  one  does  not  listen  with  the  mind, 
one  does  not  hear  at  all. 

Just  as  the  clock  chimed  ten  the  door  swung  violently 
open,  and  several  people  rushed  in.  For  a  moment  the 
man  ahead,  on  account  of  his  height  and  the  width  of  his 
shoulders,  obscured  the  other  members  of  the  party,  and 
as  they  neared  me  I  recognized  Anatole,  followed  by  Ba- 
bette,  the  cocotte  who  lived  in  the  rooms  near  Zadie's. 
Her  sparkling  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles.  They  sat 
down,  accompanied  by  two  of  their  own  countrymen.  I 
caught  the  glance  the  girl  threw  me  as  she  said : 

"  Come,  join  us,  ma  cherie,  come!" 

"  Mercit  non,"  I  answered.  "  I'm  waiting  for  some- 
one." 

They  paid  no  more  attention  to  me,  and  I  continued  to 
keep  my  anxious  watch  over  the  door,  hoping,  every  time 
it  swung  open,  that  the  newcomer  was  Zadie.  The  old 
clock  chimed  eleven,  then  twelve,  and  still  I  waited,  turn- 
ing aside  invitations  to  drink  and  be  merry  which  were 
shouted  across  to  me  from  time  to  time. 

Babette's  vivacity  and  Anatole's  dark  glances  at  the  girl 
interested  others  besides  myself.  She  sipped  a  tiny  bit  of 
absinthe  from  Anatole's  cup ;  but  wrinkled  her  pretty  nose 
and  ejaculated: 

"  I  do  not  like  it  —  so !  " 

"  It  wouldn't  be  good  for  your  beauty  to  get  too  fond 
of  it,"  put  in  one  of  her  companions,  with  a  twinge  of 
patois  in  his  speech. 

Anatole  turned  frowningly  upon  the  speaker;  but 
Babette  flashed  a  look  of  warning  at  her  tall  lover,  and  he 
dropped  his  eyes  upon  his  absinthe,  twirling  the  glass 
irritably. 


230  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Just  then  I  got  up  and  went  into  the  ladies'  waiting 
room.  I  had  the  powder-puff  in  my  fingers,  when  I  felt 
a  touch  on  my  shoulder. 

"  C'est  moi." 

Babette  was  smiling  into  my  face ;  but  I  thought  there 
was  a  touch  of  sadness  in  her  tones. 

"You've  been  gone  a  long  time,"  said  she.  "Where? 
In  Venice?  " 

"  No,  with  friends." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  Captain  Zadie  said  you'd  gone  from 
Paris  to  Venice." 

"That  was  some  while  ago,"  I  made  haste  to  reply, 
keeping  faith  with  the  big  woman  who  had  wanted  to  pro- 
tect me. 

"  Well,  it's  nice  to  see  you  back.  Coming  to  our  house 
again  ?  " 

I  nodded,  my  throat  choking  with  a  lump. 

"  Anatole  says  Lady  Jane  Grey  has  lost  her  American. 
I  asked  her  about  him,  and  she  called  me  a  pig.  I  don't 
like  her." 

Babette  was  arranging  the  folds  of  her  hair  over  the 
most  beautiful  brow  I've  ever  seen.  Her  limpid,  dark 
eyes  smiled  at  the  pretty,  reflected  picture.  I  leaned  back, 
too  sick  at  heart  to  make  a  reply  to  her  statement,  and  she 
went  on: 

"  Anatole  has  been  away  for  his  vacation.  He's  just 
back.  He  couldn't  stay  away  from  Paris  and  me  any 
longer.  And  did  you  notice  the  monsieur  beside  me? 
He's  in  the  school  of  pharmacy." 

"  But  Anatole  doesn't  like  him,"  I  observed. 

"  No,  no !  Anatole  hates  him !  I  am  happy  when 
Anatole  is  jealous.  I  could  die  of  happiness  when  he 
pinches  me  for  flirting  with  other  men.  I  love  the  hurt. 
He  did  this  just  now !  " 

With  an  impulsive  movement,  she  slipped  up  her  sleeve 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  231 

as  high  as  it  would  go,  displaying  a  long,  vivid  mark,  red 
and  purple,  that  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  upper  arm 
from  the  plump  shoulder  to  the  elbow. 

"How  terrible!"  I  ejaculated. 

"  Terrible,  ma  cherie,  terrible?  I  wish  I  had  them  from 
here  to  here,"  and  she  made  a  gesture  that  embraced  the 
whole  of  her  dainty  body,  from  the  top  of  her  head  to  her 
beaded  slippers.  "  Cela  me  fait  du  bien!  I  know  that 
he  loves  me  much  when  he  hurts  me  so.  Men  don't  bother 
to  hurt  women  they  don't  love." 

My  mind  swept  back  to  Roger.  Babette  broke  in  on 
my  thoughts  impetuously,  an  eye-pencil  suspended  in  the 
air. 

"  Anatole  goes  away  for  good  next  year,  and  he's  going 
to  be  married  to  his  cousin.  He  says  he  may  kill  me  be- 
fore he  goes.  I  hope  he  will !  " 

"  Do  you  want  to  die  ?  "  I  asked  dully. 

"  Oui,  oui,  rather  than  live  without  Anatole !  You 
watch  tonight !  I'm  going  to  have  another  like  this,"  and 
she  pointed  significantly  toward  the  bruise  on  her  arm. 
With  another  perk  at  herself  in  the  glass,  she  smiled  bril- 
liantly at  me  and  was  gone. 

When  I  was  taking  my  seat  again,  I  thought  I  saw 
Anatole  slipping  his  strong  fingers  up  and  down  Babette's 
white  arm.  She  smiled  languidly ;  but  I  knew  he  had  hurt 
her,  for  her  face  whitened  and  she  leaned  more  heavily 
upon  him. 

I  transferred  my  attention  to  the  student  with  the  hand- 
some face,  whose  eyes  were  filled  with  slumbering  fires. 
They  dwelt  continually  on  Babette.  Anatole's  expression 
grew  darker  and  darker,  and  I  could  see  that  Babette  was 
reaping  the  consequences.  However,  a  coquettish  smile 
perpetually  wreathed  her  lips  as  she  pressed  closer  to 
Anatole,  and  threw  daring  glances  into  the  other  man's 
face. 


232  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

The  absinthe  had  gone  to  their  heads.  Anatole  lifted 
his  glass,  and  drained  it  at  a  draft,  calling  furiously  for 
another.  He  was  white  with  suppressed  passion ;  but  the 
repeated  doses  of  absinthe  brought  the  color  back  into  the 
swarthy  skin  until  it  was  red  as  an  apple,  and  a  furtive 
look  came  into  his  eyes.  He  raised  one  great  arm  and 
placed  it  across  the  girl,  and  with  the  other  hand  he  sought 
the  flesh  on  the  slender  arms,  and  I  knew  that  each  touch 
left  its  mark. 

At  length,  without  warning,  the  strange  student,  under 
the  influence  of  drink,  bent  forward.  Babette  saw  his 
movement;  but  I  don't  believe  that  she  imagined  what  he 
was  going  to  do.  She  raised  her  piquant  face  one  mo- 
ment to  Anatole's,  and  in  her  expression  was  a  heaven  full 
of  love  such  as  any  man  might  die  to  win.  Then  she  flung 
her  head  forward,  and  the  stranger's  lips  came  directly 
down  upon  hers.  The  way  in  which  she  jerked  herself 
back,  and  the  look  of  quick  disgust  that  sprang  into  her 
eyes,  assured  me  that  she  had  intended  only  to  glance 
wickedly  into  the  student's  face. 

I  rose  to  my  feet  with  a  low  cry,  when  Anatole  lifted 
the  girl  completely  from  her  chair,  encircling  her  body 
with  one  gigantic  arm.  With  his  free  hand  he  snatched 
something  from  his  pocket.  It  was  all  over  quickly,  and 
the  red  stains  on  Anatole's  hands  told  more  than  the  cries 
that  followed.  The  strange  student  slipped  quietly  away. 
After  that  I  saw  something  take  place  between  Babette  and 
Anatole  that  was  different  from  anything  I  had  ever  seen 
before.  He  had  crushed  her  into  his-  arms,  and  was 
searching  her  face  with  eyes  that  flashed  burning 
sparks. 

"  Babette!  Babette!  'Mon  Dieu!  que  je  t'aime,  que  je 
t'aime!  I  love  you!  I  love  you  more  than  myself." 

"Babette!"  I  cried,  hastening  forward.  "Oh,  poor 
little  child !  You  have  been  killed ! " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  233 

She  turned  her  bloodless  face  to  me  for  one  instant  as 
Anatole  rose  with  her  body  strained  closely  against  his. 

"  I  shall  not  die,"  I  heard  her  say.  "  It's  a  good  hurt. 
Mon  Dieu!  I  love  it ! " 

Her  arms,  weak  as  a  child's,  encircled  the  huge  neck  for 
an  instant,  and  Babette,  unconscious,  dropped  her  face 
upon  the  student's  shoulder. 

There  was  a  confused  shout  that  the  officers  were  com- 
ing, and  the  proprietor,  red  and  angry,  placed  himself 
directly  in  front  of  Anatole,  commanding  him  to  release 
the  girl. 

"  Let  me  pass ! "  roared  the  student,  with  his  white  bur- 
den lifted  high  above  the  heads  of  the  sobered  revelers. 
"  Let  me  pass,  or  by  the  Mother  of  God  I'll  give  you  a 
taste  of  the  knife  too ! " 

The  proprietor  jumped  back,  making  loud  protestations. 

"The  girl's  mine!  Does  anyone  want  to  interfere?" 
Anatole  cried  once  more,  glancing  belligerently  round. 

No  one  stirred.  Without  further  word,  the  student 
strode  forward,  bearing  his  precious  burden  out  through 
the  swinging  doors  into  the  white  electric  light  of  the 
Boulevard  St.  Michel. 

A  man  beside  me  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  laughed, 
and  I  heard  a  low  voice  in  my  ear  say  : 

"  A  pretty  scene !  Anatole's  lucky,  by  le  bon  Dieu! 
The  girl  loves  him  madly.  It's  well  to  have  a  knife  now 
and  then  to  prove  —  love !  " 

I  turned  my  head  slowly,  and  saw  the  smiling,  half- 
closed  eyes  of  Casperone  Larodi. 

"  The  officers  will  be  here  in  a  moment,"  he  said.  "  You 
don't  want  to  be  mixed  up  in  a  student  row,  do  you?  You 
had  better  come  away  with  me." 

I  was  too  dazed  to  resist  him,  and  allowed  him  to  pilot 
me  through  the  gabbling  crowd  to  the  door.  He  was  in 
high  good  humor,  and  passed  a  franc  to  the  waiter  who 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

handed  him  his  hat  and  stick.  He  took  my  arm  in  master- 
ful fashion  and  directed  my  steps  toward  the  Place  St. 
Michel. 

"  I'm  not  going  that  way,"  I  said,  coming  to  a  halt. 

"Where  are  you  going,  then?" 

"  Nowhere  with  you.     Please  loosen  my  arm." 

"  No,  I  will  not  this  time,  my  sweet !  Don't  make  a 
row  in  the  street.  You  know,  scenes  are  bad  for  women 
if  the  police  hear  them  — : 

"  Let  go  of  my  arm  instantly,  Count  Larodi ! "  I  re- 
peated. "  I  shall  throw  myself  on  the  mercy  of  the  next 
officer  who  passes  if  you  do  not." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Phyllis  1 "  insisted  Casperone. 
"  Come  and  get  something  to  eat.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you." 

His  face  was  so  close  to  mine  that  I  felt  the  hot  breath 
against  my  cheek,  while  the  expression  in  his  eyes  fright- 
ened me.  I  felt  my  strength  ebbing  —  I  was  so  alone, 
and  so  dreadfully  tired! 

Just  then,  near  the  shadow  of  a  tall  monument  beyond, 
I  saw  a  familiar  figure,  and  caught  the  flamboyant  glint 
of  red  hair  under  the  light.  Zadie's  fat  form  was  coming 
toward  me.  Like  a  flash  I  left  Casperone's  side,  and  went 
as  fast  as  my  legs  would  carry  me  toward  the  only  woman 
in  Paris  whom  I  really  loved  and  trusted. 

Zadie  did  not  see  me  at  first,  and  I  almost  threw  myself 
into  her  arms. 

"  C'est  toi,  Mignonne!  "  she  gasped.     "  Ees  eet  you  ?  " 

"  Oui,  oui  —  c'est  bien  moi!  "  I  cried  brokenly.  "  Za- 
die darling,  take  me  home  with  you ! " 

We  passed  Casperone  as  we  came  back  toward  Cafe 
Pantheon,  and,  as  he  looked  significantly  from  my  friend 
to  me,  he  smiled  evilly,  fingering  his  mustache. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  235 

Zadle  went  after  my  trunk,  and  informed  me  that  Donna 
was  alone  in  the  flat.  I  was  glad,  because,  after  pondering 
a  long  time,  I  had  decided  that  I  would  not  tell  Zadie 
I  had  seen  her  son. 

I  went  to  the  bank  to  make  arrangements  for  my  mail 
to  be  forwarded  to  Zadie's  home.  I  did  not  want  to  have 
to  be  forced  to  send  for  letters  to  Rue  de  Bac.  And  to- 
night, as  I  sit  here  thinking  of  what  this  day  has  brought 
me,  and  of  my  changed  condition,  I  marvel  at  the  strange 
happenings  of  Fate. 

The  cashier  of  the  bank  asked  me  in  polite  French  te 
step  into  the  private  office.  There  the  president  took  my 
hand  obsequiously. 

"  Madame  has  regained  her  money,"  said  he. 

I  stared  at  him  dumbly. 

"  Word  came  to  us  yesterday  that  your  American  bank 
has  opened  and  is  paying  off  the  depositors  dollar  for  dol- 
lar, with  interest.  Here  are  your  papers,  Madame." 

I  sank  dizzily  into  a  chair.  My  mind  swept  back  to  my 
friend  in  Boulevard  St.  Michel.  I  got  up  and,  thanking 
the  president,  went  out. 

I  faced  Zadie  tremblingly. 

"  M a  file,  you  ees  sick  ?  "  she  gasped,  leading  me  to  a, 
chair. 

"  No,  no,  Zadie,  not  sick,  only  happier  than  when  I  went 
out  this  morning.  My  money  isn't  lost  at  all.  I  am  rich, 
Dear,  very  rich,  with  more  money  than  ever  before." 

Zadie  thrust  me  away,  and  the  heavy  face  lost  its  smile. 
"Rich  —  you  ees  rich?"  she  repeated  dully. 

"  Yes,  Zadie  —  look !  Oh,  you  can't  read  English.  Sit 
down  close  to  me  while  I  —  Why,  Zadie,  you're  not  cry- 
ing!" 

Her  big  round  shoulders  were  shaking  with  sobs,  and  for 
a  moment  the  stoic  Frenchwoman  gave  way  like  a  child. 


236  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

That  made  me  fall  to  crying,  and  for  a  moment  we  both 
wept  stormily. 

"  Zadie,"  I  gasped  as  soon  as  I  could  speak,  "  we  are 
just  a  couple  of  babies.  Oh,  aren't  you  glad,  aren't  you 
glad?" 

She  wiped  her  face,  looking  at  me  with  a  touch  of  dull 
wonder.  "  You  ees  —  a  rich  —  American  lady  —  now, 
and  I  ees  only  Captain  Zadie!" 

I  caught  each  separate  word  between  her  sobs.  "  What 
do  you  mean,  Dear?  "  I  tried  to  raise  her  face  to  mine. 

"  I  say,"  she  burst  out  impetuously,  "  that  now  ven  I 
ees  to  make  somethings  for  you,  you  not  need  me.  I  vas 
thinking  vat  care  I  ees  to  take  of  you.  And  now  —  Mon 
Dieu,  mon  Dleu!  I  nef  er  see  you  again !  " 

"  Zadie ! "  I  said  in  a  choked  voice,  smoothing  her  hair. 
"  Zadie  dear,  big,  stupid  Zadie,  listen  to  me !  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  a  story.  So  please  stop  rubbing  your  eyes.  I 
sha'n't  talk  until  you  do." 

"  I  ees  looking  at  you,  Pheelis,"  she  got  out  at  last  over 
her  handkerchief. 

"  Then  I'll  begin  my  story.  There  was  once  upon  a 
time  a  lonely  little  girl  who  lost  all  her  money.  She  hadn't 
a  single  friend  in  all  the  big  city  she  lived  in  — " 

Zadie  was  leaning  over  me,  her  arm  over  my  shoulders. 

"  The  girl  found  her  way  to  a  place  where  another 
woman  lived.  If  this  woman  hadn't  been  wise  and  kind 
to  the  poor,  foolish  girl,  and  if  she  hadn't  given  her  heaps 
of  advice,  goodness  only  knows  what  would  have  happened 
to  the  silly  little  thing!  The  woman  did  more  than  that, 
too:  she  took  the  girl  into  the  country  to  see  her  mother, 
and  made  the  terrible  days  and  nights  as  pleasant  as  she 
could  —  Now  do  you  know  whom  I  mean,  Zadie  ?  " 

"  Oui,  oui,  oui!  But  you  ees  poor  then,  and  you  ees 
rich  now?"  Her  voice  raised  on  the  last  word,  making 
it  a  question. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  237 

I  felt  a  new  happiness  in  my  money.  "  Yes ;  but  I  was 
telling  you  about  the  girl,  Zadie.  Are  you  going  to  let 
me  go  on?  " 

"  Oui!  " 

"  Then  she  loved  someone  — "  I  stopped,  and  my  sor- 
row rushed  over  me  with  such  force  that  I  could  not  finish 
the  parable.  "  Oh,  don't  you  see  that  money  makes  it 
easier  for  you  to  take  care  of  me,  Dear?  "  I  cried  desper- 
ately. "  Zadie,  Zadie,  I'm  so  miserable  that  if  you  left 
me  I  should  die !  I  never  want  to  be  separated  from  you 
again." 

"  Pauvre  mignonne,*poor  fille!  "  There  was  a  world  of 
sympathy  in  her  ejaculation. 

After  thinking  a  moment,  I  said,  "  I  want  to  go  to  the 
forest  of  Fontainebleau,  and  you  must  go  with  me  right 
aWay !  " 

"  Fontainebleau ! "  She  lifted  her  hands  in  shocked 
surprise.  "  But  eet  ees  trlste  there,  ma  cherie,  so  lonely,  so 
triste!  " 

"  Nevertheless,  I've  a  fancy  to  go,  Zadie.  It's  very 
solemn,  quiet,  and  restful.  I  was  there  once.  Bruce 
Stewart  told  me  that  he  stayed  there  one  summer  in  a  mon- 
astery that  had  been  turned  into  a  resting  place  for  tour- 
ists. There's  where  I  want  to  go ! " 

Zadie  looked  frightened.  "  Mais  non!  A  monastery  !  " 
she  cried.  "  These  places  ees  haunted." 

"  Haunted?     Nonsense  !  " 

"  Oui,  out,  oui,  with  the  dead  monks,  ma  petite!  " 

"  Zadie  dear,  how  foolish !  Dead  people  can't  come 
back ! " 

"  Monks  can  get  out  of  their  graves,"  she  insisted  stub- 
bornly, "  and  then  eet  ees, cold  and  dull  for  my  girl." 

"  Not  if  you  will  go  with  me,  Zadie,"  I  replied  wearily. 
" 1  want  to  lose  the  world  and  rest !  " 

"  I  come  weez  you,  Mignonne"  was  what  she  said  ap- 


238  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

prehensively,  and  the  mother-look  I  knew  so  well  illumi- 
nated her  face  as  she  kissed  me. 

•  ••*•*** 

Before  Zadie  and  I  left  Boulevard  St.  Michel  I  went  in 
to  see  Babette,  with  Violetta  in  my  arms.  Anatole  had 
gone  out  to  smoke,  and  the  little  cocotte  was  alone,  her 
hair  brushed  back  and  plaited  in  two  long  braids  that  fell 
over  the  pillow.  She  smiled  as  I  bent  over  her  and  pressed 
her  hand. 

"  Is  Babette  better?  "  I  asked,  as  if  she  were  a  child. 

She  nodded,  and  I  saw  an  expression  leap  into  her  eyes 
that  puzzled  me.  "You  are  getting  well  now,  Babette," 
I  insisted. 

"  Oui,  oul;  but  not  quickly,  and  I'm  so  unhappy ! " 

"  Why?  "  I  queried.  "  Why,  Childy,  Anatole  loves  you 
more  than  the  whole  world." 

"  Oui,  out,  I  know  that ;  but  —  but  — "  Two  scalding 
tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  Her  lips  quivered  pitifully. 

"  Babette ! "  I  whispered,  leaning  over  her.  "  Poor 
little  Babette,  you  must  trust  him!  He  loves  you  de- 
votedly." 

"  But  —  but  I  can't  —  I  can't  get  money  while  I  am  ill, 
and  we  must  have  money,  Anatole  and  I ! " 

Just  at  that  instant  the  door  opened,  and  Anatole  came 
in  with  the  subdued  awkwardness  of  a  man  in  a  sickroom. 
He  took  off  his  hat  and  smiled  bravely  at  the  girl  on  the 
bed. 

"  My  little  one  is  better?  " 

"Oui,  Anatole." 

"  And  the  baby-love  doesn't  cry  any  more  ?  " 

For  answer  two  more  tears  welled  up  and  stole  slowly 
down  to  the  pillow.  Anatole  stooped  over  her,  and  wiped 
them  away. 

"  Anatole  will  punish  his  baby  if  she  weeps."  Then  he 
looked  at  me  in  apology.  "  She  wants  to  work ;  but  I 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  239 

know  that  in  some  way  we  shall  manage  to  get  along.  You 
see,  Mademoiselle,  I've  promised  Babette  that  when  I  go 
away  next  year  she  shall  go  with  me.  I'm  going  to  marry 
her." 

The  flash  that  lit  up  the  white  face  lasted  but  a  moment ; 
but  the  shadow  settled  over  it  again. 

"  But  I  can  get  no  money  for  you,  Anatole.  If  any- 
one else  works  for  you,  I  shall  die !  "  Her  voice  was  fierce 
in  spite  of  her  weakness. 

"  Hush,  Babette ! "  cried  Anatole  with  eagerness.  "  I 
can  work,  can't  I  ?  It  doesn't  matter  if  I  lose  a  year,  after 
all.  I  can  earn  enough  money  to  take  the  lectures  next 
spring.  We  will  struggle  through  somehow."  He 
turned  to  me.  "  I  can  work !  "  he  repeated. 

A  thought  came  to  my  mind  straight  from  Heaven. 
How  happy  it  made  me !  I  pushed  Anatole  aside  and  bent 
over  Babette. 

"  Babette  cherie,  would  you  like  to  give  Anatole  some 
money  ?  " 

"  He  must  have  money ! "  she  wailed.  "  It  has  made 
me  so  happy  to  work  for  him,  my  Anatole!  Oh,  I  shall 
soon  be  able  to  go  out  again  I  Anatole,  mon  amour,  wait, 
wait,  only  wait  a  few  days ! " 

"  Babette,"  I  insisted  again,  "  listen !  I  am  going  to 
give  you  money  for  Anatole ! " 

Her  whole  expression  changed  in  a  twinkling.  Unbe- 
lief struggled  with  hope;  hope  was  quenched  by  weari- 
ness. 

"  You're  poor,  too,  Mademoiselle.  You  couldn't  give 
Anatole  and  me  money."  The  flower-like  face  drooped 
painfully. 

Anatole  kissed  her  slim  fingers.  A  glance,  intense  and 
longing,  shot  from  his  eyes.  Babette  looked  at  me  wist- 
fully, with  a  kind  of  dumb  faith  that  I  would  give  her  the 
solution  to  the  problem  that  confronted  her. 


240  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Babette,  wouldn't  it  make  you  happy  if  I  —  if  I  gave 
you  enough  money  to  carry  you  and  Anatole  over  this 
next  year?  Then  you  need  not  go  on  the  boulevards !  " 

In  my  eagerness  to  make  the  girl  happy,  I  had  forgot- 
ten Anatole;  but  his  exclamation  brought  his  presence 
back  to  me,  and  I  glanced  at  him. 

"  It  has  been  like  death  to  have  her  on  the  boulevards !  " 
he  groaned.  "  Yet,  what  could  we  do  ?  I  couldn't  leave 
her  —  I  can't  now,  can  I  ?  " 

The  sharp  French  voice  asked  the  question  with  an  in- 
tonation implying  that  no  answer  was  expected.  Neither 
the  girl  nor  the  man  took  in  the  import  of  my  offer.  How 
was  it  possible  for  them,  when  they  didn't  know  of  my 
change  of  circumstances?  They  were  searching  each 
other's  soul  through  glances  that  were  tinged  with  fire. 

"  Anatole,  are  you  going  to  marry  Babette  right 
away  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Ou i,  Mademoiselle !  Life  is  too  short  to  live  without 
her.  My  cousin  is  rich;  but  I'd  sooner  kill  myself  than 
marry  her  now.  I  shall  never  love  anyone  but  — "  he 
glanced  toward  the  bed,  tears  springing  into  his  eyes. 

"  And  you  want  to  marry  Anatole,  Babette  ?  " 

"But  naturally."     Her  tone  was  almost  petulant. 

"  Then,  Dear,"  I  took  her  eager  face  between  my  palms, 
"  I  am  going  to  let  you  have  enough  money  to  keep  you 
and  Anatole  until  he  begins  practising  for  himself  and 
can  earn  money  for  you  both.  My  money  has  been  re- 
stored to  me ! " 

They  were  silent  with  amazement.  I  stretched  out  my 
hand,  and  Anatole  with  a  sob  impulsively  took  it  in  his. 

"  Can't  you  understand?  "  I  said,  with  swimming  eyes. 
"  I  am  so  miserable  myself  that  it  will  help  me  if  I  can  do 
something  to  make  you  two  happy." 

As  I  ran  tearfully  out  of  the  room,  Violetta  lifted  her 
cold,  pink  nose  and  gave  me  a  long,  sympathetic  lick. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

WE  have  been  here  at  Fontainebleau  one  day.  The 
journey  in  the  closed  carriage  up  the  long, 
winding  road  that  runs  through  the  forest  to- 
ward the  white  gorges,  rising  high  in  the  vapory  mist, 
brought  back  that  day  when  Bruce  had  asked  me  to  be  his 
wife.  Again  and  again  I  asked  Zadie  if  we  were  nearly 
there. 

"  When  we  turn  the  corner  by  the  big  tree  weez  the 
broad  arms  we  see  the  building.  Tired,  ma  petite?  " 

"  Out,  oui,  so  very  tired !  Zadie,  you  said  there  was  a 
boy  —  is  he  very  young?  " 

"  Eight  or  nine,"  she  answered.  "  I  like  a  child  about 
the  place.  Eet  ees  more  cheerful.  I'm  glad  I  bring  Vio- 
letta!" 

Zadie  put  her  eye  to  the  opening  in  the  curtain  and 
nodded  idly  as  she  counted  with  halting  precision  the  long 
shadows  of  the  trees.  Presently  she  pulled  the  curtain 
aside,  and  pointed  to  an  edifice  of  dark  stone  reared  in  the 
mist-covered  sunshine. 

"  There  ees  eet ! "  she  cried. 

Out  of  the  roof  of  the  monastery  came  a  faint  trail  of 
smoke,  and  beyond  I  could  see  a  giant  boulder  rise  in  its 
grayness,  the  top  lost  in  the  cloud  vapor. 

"  How  desolate  it  all  is ! "  I  exclaimed  with  a  shudder. 

Zadie  involuntarily  put  out  her  hand.  "  I  told  you  — " 
she  began. 

"  I  know  you  did,  and  Pm  not  sorry  I  came.  I  could  not 
have  come  alone,  Zadie.  So  that  is  the  monastery  ?  " 

"  Oui  —  and  there  ees  the  little  Fra^ois,  Mere  Durand's 


son,  wafing   to  the  cocker.     He  ees  a  pert  leetle  wretch." 

The  carriage  came  to  an  abrupt  standstill,  and  before 
the  cocker  could  descend  or  Zadie  could  move  the  peasant 
boy  thrust  a  sunburned  face,  wrinkled  with  curiosity,  into 
the  cab.  As  far  as  I  could  see,  he  was  the  only  youthful 
thing  within  view.  His  strong,  young  body  seemed  an 
emblem  of  spring  in  this  gray,  hoary  place. 

Directly  at  his  back,  his  mother,  a  hard-featured  peas- 
ant woman,  who  seemed  to  have  gathered  grayness  from 
the  mist,  peered  in  upon  us.  She  did  not  speak  until  we 
were  out  and  Zadie  had  given  the  francs  to  the  coclier. 

"  Bon  jour,  Mere  Durand,"  said  Zadie. 

"  Bon  jour,"  she  replied  somewhat  sullenly. 

I  noted  her  inquisitive  womanish  scrutiny ;  but  the  f or- 
lornness  of  my  position  made  me  indifferent  to  her  un- 
friendly eyes.  She  accused  me  by  her  rasping  tone, 
though  her  words  were  natural  enough. 

"  Does  Madame's  husband  come,  too  ?  " 

Zadie  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  then  closed  them  again. 

"  No,"  I  replied  in  pain,  "  he  won't  be  here  at  all." 

She  turned  abruptly  and  led  us  through  the  stone  door. 
In  another  minute  we  stood  under  the  roof  of  the  low 
room  in  which  I  am  now  writing.  From  the  window  I 
can  see  the  huge  piles  of  rocks,  grotesque  and  vast,  as 
though  a  giant  at  play  had  tumbled  them  down  in  pure 
mischief. 

The  forest  is  stretched  over  miles  of  towering  moun- 
tains, meeting  the  night  at  the  distant  horizon.  The  bird 
and  insect  life  of  the  gorges  is  now  silent  in  the  twilight, 
and  I  see  the  stars  come  out  one  by  one.  The  grinning 
old  moon  makes  fantastic,  playing  figures  with  the  tree 
shadows.  And  so  I  face  my  first  night  in  the  forest  of 
Fontainebleau. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  243 

Zadie  and  I  got  up  at  the  dawn  of  our  first  day  here, 
and  with  the  consent  of  the  peasant  woman  ransacked 
every  inch  of  the  monastery. 

This  room  is  oblong  in  shape,  and  stands  by  itself,  hav- 
ing at  one  time  been  the  cell  where  the  monks  did  penance. 
It  was  here  that  they  used  to  flagellate  themselves.  In 
one  corner  lies  a  round,  dark  stone,  in  another  a  cot  cov- 
ered with  a  white  bedspread,  and  a  bench  runs  the  length 
of  the  wall  opposite  close  to  the  stone. 

I  have  been  roused  from  lethargy  by  the  sight  of  a  huge 
cross  that  rises  to  the  ceiling  with  the  body  of  the  cruci- 
fied Savior  carved  rudely  from  stone  upon  it.  It  seems 
that  the  symbol  of  divine  suffering  has  an  almost  sinister 
significance  for  me.  Was  this  Roger's  Christ,  or  the  smil- 
ing Savior  of  the  Louvre?  The  carved  body  gives  me  no 
solution;  and  there  is  but  an  expression  of  pain  on  the 
face. 

The  child  is  at  his  play,  and  I  can  see  him  digging  with 
a  rusty  knife  on  the  white  path  that  leads  to  the  well, 
while  voices  talking  in  patois  come  from  the  inner  monas- 
tery. 

"  Ask  her  for  a  hundred  francs  more,"  said  a  man's 
voice  gruffly. 

"  Hush !  "  replied  the  woman.     "  She'll  hear  — " 

My  eyes  sought  Zadie's ;  but  the  rest  of  the  sentence  was 
whispered.  A  moment  afterward,  the  peasant  woman 
came  shuffling  back. 

"  As  —  Madame  is  likely  to  be  ill,"  she  hesitated,  taking 
me  in  with  significant  eyes,  "  I  must  charge  a  hundred 
franc  more  the  month." 

"  I  bargained  with  you  for  two  of  us,"  Zadie  broke  in 
angrily  in  French.  "  How  dare  you  ask  Madame  for 
more?  " 

"  You  didn't  tell  me  all,"  the  woman  answered  stub- 


244  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

bornly.  "  There  is  danger,  and  doctors  are  far  away.  I 
must  ask  for  payment  in  advance." 

"  Give  her  the  money,  Dear,"  I  interposed,  and  at  my 
insistence  Zadie  ungraciously  counted  out  the  notes  from 
my  purse. 

I  turned  to  the  Frenchwoman,  whose  manner  had  soft- 
ened at  sight  of  the  money.  "  May  your  little  boy  go 
with  me  sometimes  into  the  gorges  beyond?  " 

"  Whenever  Madame  likes,"  she  answered  with  some  sur- 
prise. "  The  little  Francois  is  all  I  have  —  he's  a  good 
child." 

She  looked  out  on  the  boy,  still  scraping  up  the  dirt 
with  energy  and  purposeless  effort.  Suddenly  he  raised 
his  eyes.  The  peasant's  homely  face  brightened,  and  the 
child  threw  down  the  knife  and  ran  into  the  room.  She 
stood  stolidly,  running  her  fingers  through  the  straight, 
black  hair,  as  Fra^ois  stared  impudently  at  me.  There 
was  something  in  her  pride  of  motherhood  that  touched 
me.  I  was  obliged  to  turn  to  the  window  to  hide  my  agi- 
tation. 

As  far  as  sight  could  reach,  great  boulders  rise  gray  in 
the  misty  air, —  north,  south,  east,  and  west  tell  the  eternal 
tale  of  some  glacial  age  that  had  left  this  desolation  in  its 
track. 

The  woman  spoke  again.  "  There !  "  she  said,  pointing 
to  the  dark  stone.  "  There's  where  the  monks  did  pen- 
ance —  when  they  sinned."  She  wrapped  her  hands  in  her 
coarse  apron,  and  inclined  her  head  cornerwise.  "  Those 
dark  spots  are  blood,"  she  went  on;  and  then,  changing 
the  conversation,  asked,  "  Will  Madame  have  her  food  in 
here?" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied ;  "  at  least  for  the  present." 

The  peasant  noted  my  eyes  linger  on  the  Cross,  and  she 
changed  the  subject  again.  "  It's  been  there  ever  since 
the  monks  went  away.  Madame  doesn't  object?  " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  I  love  it ! "  I  broke  in  eagerly.  "  If  the  monks  found 
peace  with  it  — " 

"  Madame  will  find  it  also,  n'est  ce  pas?  If  Madame 
asks  for  peace,  the  good  God  will  surely  send  it  to  her." 
She  crossed  herself  devoutly. 

Zadie  gave  a  grunt,  and  turned  upon  my  interrogator. 
"  Do  not  worry  Madame,  Mere  Durand.  She  must  rest 
now." 

Taking  the  child  by  the  hand,  the  peasant  went  out, 
and  I  saw  her  walking  awkwardly  to  the  wash-house  near 
the  well. 

Zadie  closed  the  door  in  answer  to  a  look  that  I  gave 
her.  "  You  ees  tired,  ma  mignonne"  she  said,  patting  my 
shoulder  with  her  big  hand. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  I  said  presently,  "  that  in  the  quiet- 
ness of  this  place  I  shall  grow  to  understand  things  a  little 
better.  Roger  said  I  had  committed  the  unpardonable 
sin;  but  now,  somehow,  I  feel  that  his  God  is  not  my  God 
any  longer.  If  He  were  as  merciless  as  that,  Zadie,  I 
know  I  should  hate  Him ! " 

"  The  man  ees  an  ass,"  Zadie  observed  decidedly. 
"  Think  your  head  no  more  about  him,  ma  petite" 

"  I  will  not  allow  myself  to  think  that  what  I  have  done 
has  placed  —  us  beyond  redemption,"  I  went  on,  speaking 
rather  to  myself  than  to  her,  and  I  searched  the  mute  stone 
face  of  the  Christ  for  an  answer. 

Zadie,  uncomprehending,  grunted  again.  The  only 
fact  she  understood  was  that  I  was  suffering,  and  she  re- 
peated, "  The  man  ees  an  ass." 

"  Hush,  Zadie !  " 

"  I  vish  to  le  bon  Dieu  you  not  come  here ! "  she  broke 
in.  "  You  haf  your  money.  You  haf  eferyt'ing  in  the 
vorld  to  mek  you  happy.  You  not  want  to  marry  the 
man,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  what  I  want,  Dear." 


246  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

And  Zadie  cried,  "  Dear,  dear !  the  girl  ees  a  fool.  Vhat 
good  ees  a  man  weezout  sense?  " 

This  was  Zadie's  measure  of  Roger,  and,  as  it  was  I  who 
had  given  it,  I  did  not  attempt  his  defense.  Her  next 
words  opened  up  a  train  of  thought  and  gave  me  new  in- 
terest. 

"  Eef  you  not  find  somet'ing  about  your  God  puzzeel 
here,"  said  she,  "  there  ees  no  place  vhere  you  can." 

Suddenly  the  mist  lifted  and  the  sun  shone  out  in  splen- 
dor. The  dark  gorges  were  alight,  and  slowly  from  the 
crevices  that  separated  the  great  stones  snakes  stole  out, 
some  large  and  some  small.  They  rose  to  the  tops  of  the 
boulders,  and  stretched  themselves  out,  their  long,  curved 
bodies  forming  half-circles  of  black  on  the  whiteness  of 
the  rocks. 

Roger's  words  dinned  into  my  brain  with  maddening 
persistence :  "  I  should  have  to  see  a  serpent  clinging  to 
the  cross  of  Jesus  Christ  before  I  would  admit  that  such  a 
child  could  enter  Heaven !  " 

Could  I  discover  from  one  of  these  outlawed  creatures 
if  there  ever  had  been,  or  were  now,  an  enmity  still  existing 
between  the  serpent  and  the  woman?  My  eyes  fell  on  the 
cross,  which  was  gilded  by  a  level  beam  of  sunlight. 

The  Serpent  and  the  Cross!  Both  were  within  my 
reach ! 

Was  my  mind  in  a  state  of  morbidity  as  Zadie  had  in- 
timated?    It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  on  the  verge  of  solv- 
ing a  mystery,  on  the  brink  of  a  new  comprehension. 
•  •  •  •  ••  •  . 

Zadie  had  arranged  our  baggage,  and  was  standing  by 
the  window.  "  Ah,  me !  the  meest  falling  again,"  she 
said,  "  and  daylight  ees  going !  I  not  like  these  autumn 
efenings." 

"  Does  Paris  call  you,  Zadie?  "  I  asked,  going  over  and 
slipping  my  hand  into  hers. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  247 

She  did  not  speak ;  but  thrust  her  face  into  the  stone 
aperture. 

"  Zadie,"  I  cried,  "  you  can't  be  lonely  for  Boulevard 
St.  Michel?  " 

"  God  forbid ! "  she  answered  plainly,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  I  ees  finking  thet  eef  I  ees  there,  mebbe  I  meet  my  Eng- 
leesh  boy  again,  my  Engleesh  baby ;  but  —  but  he  hate 
me  and  despise  me !  "  She  broke  off  abruptly ;  then  added, 
"  Oh,  la  la !  I  haf  fetch  your  suppaire,  Cheriey"  and 
moved  off  in  the  direction  of  the  cuisine. 

"  I  not  know  vhy  eet  ees,  Pheelis,"  Zadie  remarked  to 
me  at  supper,  resting  her  bare  elbows  on  the  table,  "  since 
I  haf  not  worked,  I  haf  thought  more  about  thet  boy  than 
I  efer  before  make.  Perhaps  eet  ees  because  I  ees  with  him 
that  once." 

She  ended  with  a  sigh,  and  for  a  long  time  we  were 
silent.  Even  then  I  was  not  tempted  to  tell  her  of  my 
new  knowledge  of  Maxey.  The  moon  was  up,  and  as  I 
looked  out  once  more  into  the  overhanging  mist  I  saw 
that  the  gorges  were  white,  glistening  with  the  steady  drip 
of  the  vapor,  and  that  the  snakes  had  gone  back  into  their 
hiding  places. 

•  ••««••« 

Zadie  came  home  from  Paris  the  other  day,  and  for  some 
minutes  she  fidgeted  nervously  about  without  taking  off 
her  hat.  Her  face  was  very  pale ;  and,  because  I  can't  get 
up  my  courage  to  meet  trouble  now,  I  didn't  ask  her  what 
worried  her.  Suddenly  she  cried  out. 

"  I  brought  'em  both  back  weez  me !  " 

"  Who  ?  "  I  exclaimed  in  terror. 

"  Carlotta  and  Rosalie." 

I  went  up  to  her  eagerly.  "  Then  where  are  they  ? 
Why  didn't  you  bring  them  here  to  me?  Are  they  in  the 
village?" 

Zadie  laughed.     "  You  ees  in  terrible  hurry,   Pheelis. 


£48  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

They're  waiting  down  by  the  spring.  Oh,  ma  bebe,  they 
suffer  so  weez  that  man,  and  I  sneaked  'em  here !  You  say; 
sneak  in  America,  n'est  ce  pas?  " 

I  didn't  heed  her  forced  joke  about  American  slang,  but 
cried,  "  Oh,  run  and  get  them,  Zadie  1  Bring  both  of  them 
quick !  Go  now !  Don't  wait !  " 

Walking  excitedly  to  the  door,  I  watched  her  disappear 
round  the  bend  in  the  path.  Then,  as  she  came  to  view 
again,  I  saw  first  Rosalie,  with  her  youthful,  beautiful 
face,  and  following  after  her  Carlotta,  weak  and  wretched. 

Zadie  was  speaking  to  them  rapidly ;  and,  although  I 
couldn't  catch  what  she  said,  I  knew  it  was  about  me,  for 
she  looked  up  and  smiled.  When  Rosalie  saw  me,  she  ran 
forward;  and,  cupping  her  face  with  my  palms,  I  kissed 
it.  Carlotta,  her  great  eyes  searching  my  soul  miserably, 
sidled  from  Zadie  to  me ;  and,  because  I  realized  the  agony 
of  the  hour  through  which  she  was  passing,  I  kissed  her 
also,  and  drew  her  into  the  room.  There  we  four  waited 
as  the  mother  wept  during  our  silence.  Rosalie  stood  with 
filling  eyes,  and  Zadie  grunted  hoarsely  as  she  set  out  some 
chairs. 

When  Carlotta  was  quieter  I  hastened  them  to  their 
story.  Rosalie  had  been  taken  to  her  father's  home  where 
another  woman,  now  his  wife,  had  not  only  abused  her, 
but  day  after  day  her  mother's  dishonor  had  been  flaunted 
at  her.  Rosalie's  voice  lowered  as  she  rehearsed  the  scene 
between  her  father  and  herself. 

"  He  told  me  horrible  things  about  my  mother,  Madame 
—  untruthful  things  that  made  me  hate  him.  My  mother 
told  me  they  were  lies." 

"  So  they  were,  Rosalie  mignonne,"  I  insisted  stoutly. 
!C  Your  mother,  your  poor  little  sick  mother,  must  have  a 
chance  to  get  well !  " 

Rosalie  bounded  toward  me,  and  spoke  in  English, 
"Madame,  will  you  give  her  that  one  chance?  I'll  work 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  249 

for  you  and  her  always  — "  She  began  to  sob  violently. 
*'  She'll  die  if  she  has  to  sew  and  work  now,  when  she's  ill. 
I  can  work,  though." 

Later,  when  Zadie  had  soothed  her,  she  went  on  rapidly 
with  the  history  of  her  escape,  of  her  return  to  Boulevard 
St.  Michel.  Still  speaking,  she  went  forward  and  slipped 
an  arm  round  the  stooped  shoulders  of  Carlotta.  The 
woman  passionately  kissed  the  girl's  slender  fingers. 

"  I've  decided,"  went  on  Rosalie,  "  to  stay  with  my 
mother,  and,  Madame,  Captain  Zadie  said  you  were  good 
and  would  tell  me  what  to  do." 

Like  a  flash  of  lightning  came  the  thought  of  Roger's 
threat.  He  had  said  that  I  was  unfit  to  be  a  mother.  Car- 
lotta's  mother-life  was  much  the  same  as  mine.  Impul- 
sively I  drew  Rosalie  to  me. 

"  I'll  not  only  tell  you  what  to  do,"  said  I,  "  but  help 
you  do  it.  Zadie,  take  Rosalie  down  by  the  spring." 

When  we  were  alone,  Carlotta  rose  and  stood  looking 
down  at  me,  her  features  convulsed  into  woeful  contortions 
under  suppressed  emotion.  Fearing  she  would  break  into 
wild  weeping  again,  I  said: 

"  You  want  to  leave  Paris,  don't  you,  Carlotta  ?  " 

"  Old,  out,  with  my  baby !     But  how  ?     But  how  ?  " 

"  If  you  had  the  money,  you  could  go  away,  couldn't 
you?" 

She  nodded,  dropping  her  face  into  her  hands.  "  But 
I  haven't  any !  If  Zadie  hadn't  brought  us  here  today, 
he  would  have  come  and  taken  Rosalie  away.  She  could 
never  escape  from  him  again  !  " 

"  It  was  right,  quite  right,  of  Zadie  to  bring  you  to 
me,"  I  soothed.  "  I'm  sorry  I  haven't  done  something 
before,  Carlotta;  but  there  is  still  time.  Have  you  ever 
thought  of  going  to  America?  " 

"  America  —  America !  "  repeated  Carlotta.  "  The 
land  where  people  are  free  and  women  are  good?  " 


250  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Remembering  the  peace  of  my  home,  I  nodded. 

"How  could  we  get  there?"  demanded  Carlotta,  hope 
springing  into  her  eyes. 

"  I'll  help  you  for  your  sake  and  Rosalie's.  Besides, 
it  will  make  me  happy.  I  have  more  money  than  I  need. 
You  must  not  return  to  Boulevard  St.  Michel,  because  it 
would  be  dangerous  for  Rosalie.  Zadie  will  attend  to 
every  detail  for  you.  Will  you  stay  here  with  me  until 
you  go  away  ?  " 

At  first  she  didn't  fully  understand  my  broken  French ; 
but  I  took  pains  to  repeat  it  all  over,  and  added : 

"  You  must  never  break  your  girl's  faith  in  you  by 
telling  her  anything  about  your  Paris  life.  In  America, 
among  the  mountains,  you  will  forget  it  all  and  be  well 
and  good  again.  Go  now  and  bring  back  Rosalie." 

The  few  moments  I  was  alone  I  grew  so  nervous  that 
when  Zadie  came  in  she  exclaimed : 

"  You  have  a  fever,  ma  petite!  Lie  down  and  let  Zadie 
bathe  your  face ! " 

From  my  position  on  the  cot  I  told  Rosalie  our  plans, 
and  she  skipped  about  in  delight,  clapping  her  palms  to- 
gether, the  traces  of  tears  entirely  gone. 

"You're  wonderful,  Pheelis!"  exclaimed  Zadie  when  I 
had  finished. 

"  And  America  —  wonderful  America !  "  burst  out  Ro- 
salie in  girlish  glee.  "  We're  going  there,  ma  mere,  my; 
sweet  mother,  my  good  mother !  And  your  baby  will  take 
such  good  care  of  you  that  when  Madame  Fitzpatrick 
come  to  that  country  one  day  she'll  see  you  fat  like  this ! " 

Rosalie  pouched  out  her  cheeks,  and,  snatching  a  kiss 
from  Carlotta's  radiant  face,  danced  out  into  the  sunlight. 

"  I  couldn't  have  done  it,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Aunty's 
money,"  I  said  presently,  "  and,  Zadie,  you're  to  go  to 
Paris  tomorrow  and  buy  them  what  clothes  they  need, 
and  make  all  the  arrangements  for  their  trip.  They 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  251 

mustn't  go  to  Boulevard  St.  Michel  any  more !     Oh,  dear ! 
how  happy  I  am !  " 

•  •  ••,•••• 

I  suppose  it's  living  over  again  the  days  before  Car- 
lotta  and  Rosalie  went  away  that  makes  me  so  tired.  I've 
had  a  boat  postal  from  them.  Very  soon  they  will  arrive 
in  New  York. 

What  a  lot  of  pleasure  and  hope  a  little  money  can 
give !  I  take  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction  when  I  think 
that  I  have  had  it  to  give,  and  I  haven't  that  feeling  of 
rebellion  that  I  had  when  I  paid  little  Nan's  fare  back  to 
America.  I  wonder  how  the  wee  girl  is  ?  What  a  glorious 
thing  money  is,  after  all  1 

No,  I  mean  that  it  is  delightful  to  have  it  to  exchange 
for  happiness,  and  I  do  love  poor  Carlotta  and  pretty  Ro- 
salie ! 

Lately  I've  been  wishing  to  see  Bruce  Stewart. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

EVER  since  coming  to  this  monastery  I  have  been 
weighed  down  with  the  sense  of  my  sin,  burdened 
with  the  responsibility  of  a  life  other  than  my  own. 
Last  night,  as  I  tossed  about,  the  realization  came  to  me 
that  all  my  faith  in  God,  all  my  looking  up  toward  better 
things,  had  been  inspired  by  love  for  one  man.     In  wor- 
shiping Roger,  I  had  deluded  myself  into  belief  that  I  was 
worshiping  the  Christ. 

This  morning  I  got  up  at  daylight  and  went  into  the 
gorges  just  as  the  sun,  like  a  solid  orange  ball,  rose  in 
the  vapor  that  curled  upward,  blue,  thick,  and  opaque. 
It  gained  color  as  the  sun  gained  strength,  until  it  became 
shot  with  rose  like  an  opal.  The  fog  formed  itself  into 
wraiths,  a  veritable  procession  of  ghosts,  passing  over  the 
forest,  and  as  I  breathed  it  the  heavy  dampness  compressed 
my  lungs  like  a  weight.  The  shrill,  clear  twittering  of 
the  early  birds  rose  from  the  distant  gorges,  and  high 
up,  along  the  horizon,  the  trees  lifted  themselves  into  ranks 
against  the  sky,  their  lower  branches  still  submerged  in 
the  mist.  A  menacing  loneliness  seized  me,  the  loneliness 
of  a  soul  without  a  god.  Roger's  Christ  had  gone  with 
him! 

Something  stirred  a  few  paces  from  me,  and  I  saw  the 
stealthy  body  of  a  snake,  gray  as  the  morning  itself,  glide 
swiftly  over  the  stony  path.  Fascinated,  I  came  to  an 
abrupt  halt  and  watched  the  reptile's  undulating  body  dis- 
appear. The  gray  snake  and  I  were  at  enmity  with 
God,  were  both  outcast  creatures  in  a  world  filled  with  shad- 
ows. 

252 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  253 

Roger's  words,  about  the  serpent  clinging  to  the  Cross 
of  Christ,  recurred  to  me.  Was  my  child  to  share  in  the 
curse  of  the  serpent?  Must  I  pay  the  full  penalty  of 
the  unpardonable  sin?  Or  was  Roger's  God  a  false  god, 
a  cruel  myth  built  out  of  a  narrow  creed?  With  a  multi- 
tude of  conflicting  thoughts  tormenting  my  mind,  I  hurried 
back  to  the  monastery. 

*••*•••• 

As  day  after  day  has  passed  and  I  near  the  week  of  my 
dissolution,  I  have  tried  to  form  a  religion  for  myself. 
The  Savior  has  risen  for  me :  Roger  cannot  keep  me  from 
the  redemption  that  was  meant  for  the  whole  world. 

The  other  day  I  asked  Fran£ois  to  catch  a  snake  for  me. 
I  had  a  fancy  to  bring  it  into  this  room  in  which  the 
atmosphere  still  seems  permeated  with  prayers  like  a  fra- 
grance. But  he  has  not  brought  one  yet,  and  I'm  not 
sorry ;  for  what  should  I  do  with  it  ? 

Roger  said  that  he  would  expect  to  see  the  serpent  cling 
to  the  Cross  sooner  than  a  child  — 

Dear  God !  how  could  he  say  that?  How  dare  he?  My 
precious  little  love  —  Baby!  Even  now,  before  your 
birth,  I  adore  you ! 

•  •  •  »  *  •  •  • 

This  afternoon  I  sat  working  on  a  small  garment  for 
future  use.  I  delighted  in  looking  it  over.  I  am  happy 
when  I  think  of  some  things,  even  without  Roger,  and  the 
sight  of  the  box  of  tiny  clothes  in  the  corner  makes  my 
heart  beat  wildly. 

Fra^ois  came  to  the  door,  stopped  immediately  before 
me,  and  surveyed  me  with  grave  eyes. 

"What  have  you  there,  Dear?"  I  asked,  looking  at  a 
tiny  tin  box  he  had  in  his  hand. 

"  Spider,"  he  ejaculated. 

"  You're  not  going  to  kill  it,  Francois?  "  I  implored. 

"  I'm  going  to  pull  his  legs  off  and  see  him  hop  without 


254  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

them.     He  can  jump  without  any  legs  at  all  —  as  far  as 

that!" 

His  small,  sunburnt  face  broke  into  a  smile  as  he  meas- 
ured off  a  distance  with  his  bare  toe.  "  Fra^ois,"  I 
coaxed,  "  if  you'll  give  the  spider  to  me,  I'U  give  you  a 
franc.  But,  besides  that,  you  must  promise  me  not  to 
catch  any  more  spiders  and  hurt  them.  Will  you?  " 

He  stretched  out  the  box,  and  I  took  it  in  my  hand. 

"  You  see,  Dear,  this  poor  spider  might  have  a  lot  of 
little  spiders  somewhere.  There's  your  franc:  run  away 
and  show  it  to  mother." 

After  he  had  gone,  I  opened  the  tin  box,  and  the  spider 
took  himself  away  under  a  rock  nearby.  How  I  loved  that 
little  spider,  his  spraddling  legs,  his  poppy  eyes !  I  love 
all  of  him  —  because  I  am  persuaded  that  God's  spirit  is 
in  him,  too.  And  I  fell  to  thinking  of  the  life  mystery  of 
the  gorges  —  of  the  tiny,  round-eyed,  harmless  insects  that 
scamper  out  of  the  shadows  and  away  again  before  one 
can  tell  where  they  have  gone.  And  men  say  that  Christ 
did  not  reconcile  that  part  of  his  creation !  I  don't  believe 
it! 

•  ••••••H 

Today  has  brought  me  a  true  revelation. 

This  afternoon  when  Fra^ois  was  playing  by  the 
spring,  from  which  his  mother  was  bringing  water  to  wash 
her  linen,  I  sat  stitching  and  waiting  in  the  sunshine,  stitch- 
ing and  thinking,  until  the  tears  fell  upon  the  tiny, 
rounded  sleeves  of  my  baby's  robe.  Fran£ois  shouted  in 
glee,  his  youthful  voice  ringing  through  the  gorges  as  he 
ran  and  played.  It  was  one  of  those  days  when  the  sun 
shines  hot  upon  the  earth  as  if  in  passionate  farewell  to 
the  dead  summer. 

In  the  corner  of  my  room  the  cold  block  stands,  fash- 
ioned into  the  Cross,  with  the  Savior  upon  it.  On  the 
boulders,  stretching  themselves  in  the  sun,  lay  the  serpents 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  255 

whose  prototype  made  the  Cross  a  necessity.  From  one 
to  the  other  my  eyes  rolled  with  infinite  longing.  Above 
the  tops  of  the  trees  was  the  blue  of  the  sky ;  beyond  that 
was  the  solved  mystery  of  the  woman  and  her  sin. 

I  was  brought  out  of  my  dreaming  by  a  laugh  coming 
from  the  trees  below,  and  a  voice  said  in  English : 

"Isn't  that  extravagantly  funny?" 

Extravagantly  funny !  Where  in  this  white-bouldered, 
spirit-haunted  forest  of  Fontainebleau  could  anything  ex- 
travagantly funny  be  found? 

Again  the  laugh  pealed  out,  and  an  instant  later  I  saw 
a  troop  of  tourists  clamor  into  a  vehicle  and  drive  slowly 
down  the  hill,  the  brake  grating  as  they  went. 

Fra^ois  stood  watching  the  party  with  open  mouth, 
and  then  followed  his  mother  into  the  wash-house. 

Under  my  fingers  a  tiny,  embroidered  edge,  encircling 
the  neck  of  a  snow-white  robe,  grew  inch  by  inch, —  soft 
ruching  folding  tenderly  to  shield  a  baby  skin, — and  the 
tears  of  a  sinful  mother  must  do  something  to  smooth 
the  way  of  the  little  child  who,  in  spite  of  the  law,  in 
spite  of  conventionalities,  will  live  and  demand  its  being. 
.  Perhaps  an  hour  later,  perhaps  less, —  I  have  no  means 
of  knowing, —  my  eyes  became  riveted  upon  a  black  line 
moving  slowly  up  the  white  track  that  led  from  the  spring 
to  the  monastery.  I  stood  up,  and  the  dress  fell  to  the 
floor.  I  stepped  over  it  into  the  sunlight.  A  snake  was 
dragging  itself  painfully  along  the  path,  its  head  poised 
high  in  the  air,  a  hissing  sound  issuing  from  its  throat. 

"  Extravagantly  funny  !  " 

The  meaning  of  the  words  was  plain.  Someone  had 
wounded  the  ponderous  back  so  that  the  trailing  tail  be- 
yond the  hurt  was  a  useless  thing.  The  glorious  life  of 
the  creature  lay  in  the  head  and  in  the  rounded,  curved 
throat  with  its  magnificent  coloring.  The  wounded  part 
was  inert,  and  quivered  in  the  very  agony  of  its  dying. 


256  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

I  moved  a  step  nearer,  and  the  creature,  frightened, 
reared  its  head  upward  as  if  to  strike  me;  but  the  effort 
made  it  drop  panting  to  the  earth.  Without  a  reasoning 
thought,  I  stooped  downward  and  grasped  it  by  the  neck. 
The  forked  tongue  fluttered  searchingly  in  and  out.  Close 
to  the  gaping  throat  little  muscular  waves  ran  quivering 
over  the  bleeding  back  as  I  pulled  the  body  into  the  room. 

Breathlessly  shutting  the  door,  I  was  alone  with  the 
stone  Cross  and  the  bleeding  Serpent.  Through  the  small 
window  slanted  a  lonely  ray  of  sun,  falling  first  upon  the 
quivering  reptile,  then  upon  the  Cross,  and  lastly  upon 
me, —  a  golden  beam,  dancing  with  motes. 

I  sat  down  on  the  couch,  and  for  several  seconds  watched 
the  writhings  of  the  forest  monster.  Presently  I  rose, 
walked  wide  of  it,  and,  pouring  some  milk  into  a  small 
pannikin,  heated  it  over  the  candle.  When  it  was  warm, 
I  placed  it  before  the  creature,  and,  after  the  first  moment 
of  doubt,  it  ran  its  tongue  in  and  out  of  the  milk.  Then 
I  straightened  out  the  injured  body  until  the  silvered  tail 
rested  upon  the  pedestal  of  the  Cross,  and  suddenly  I 
noticed  that  I  had  dropped  the  body  of  the  snake  upon 
my  baby's  dress.  It  did  not  strike  me  as  incongruous  that 
I  should  wrap  it  in  it  until  this  moment  —  it  was  impera- 
tive just  then  to  cover  its  bleeding  wound. 

•  >••.... 

I've  named  my  invalid  Napoleon  ;  for  he  is  much  like  that 
old  warrior.  I  can  imagine  the  fight  he  had  for  his  life. 
As  I  think  back,  I  can  remember  how  the  beady  eyes 
seemed  to  take  in  the  whole  room,  and  how,  with  a  swift, 
furtive  motion,  the  serpent  made  its  way  toward  my  cot, 
dragging  the  blood-stained  dress  along  in  its  undulating 
retreat.  I  have  filled  a  wooden  box  with  straw  and  stones 
for  him.  I  can  hear  now  the  rustling  of  his  body. 

What  a  bewildering,  mysterious  plan  Creation  is! 
There  was  a  time  when  I  thought  that  Roger's  ideas  must 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  257 

be  true  because  they  were  his;  but  I  have  disproved  one 
already.  Roger  had  said  that  the  Heavens  would  fall  if 
the  Serpent  and  the  Cross  came  into  contact, —  my  serpent 
had  trailed  his  nerveless  tail  over  the  foot  of  the  Cross  of 
Christ,  and  the  heavens  are  as  silently  majestic  and  un- 
failing as  ever. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

YESTERDAY,  as  usual,  I  started  out  to  walk,  and 
had  just  turned  the  bend  in  the  hill  when  a  dis- 
tance up  I  saw  a  man  outlined  against  the  sky. 
He  was  dressed  in  gray,  a  slouch  hat  was  drawn  well  over 
his  eyes,  and  from  beneath  it  he  was  peering  at  the  hills 
beyond.  I  paused,  not  wishing  to  attract  his  attention, 
hoping  that  he  would  depart  by  the  tourist's  road  on 
which  he  stood.  As  he  faced  me,  I  discovered  Bruce 
Stewart. 

"  Oh,  Bruce !  "  I  exclaimed,  hurrying  forward  and  hold- 
ing out  my  hands. 

"  I  couldn't  stay  from  you  any  longer,  Phyllis,"  he  said 
softly.  "  I've  been  frightened  since  receiving  your  letter 
telling  me  where  you  were.  Poor  child,  how  pale  you  are  I 
One  would  think  I  was  a  deadly  enemy ! " 

I  piloted  him  down  the  path  leading  from  the  spring  to 
the  monastery.  The  tears  were  dropping  from  my  eyes, 
and  Bruce,  noting  them,  remained  quiet.  I  ushered  him 
through  the  little  stone  portal  of  my  home. 

"  You  can't  stay  here,  Phyllis,  you  simply  can't ! "  he 
said  with  misery  in  his  voice.  "  Tell  me  why  in  Heaven's 
name  you  chose  this  dismal  hole ! " 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  came  here,  Bruce,"  I  replied,  "  un- 
less it  was  to  get  away  from  Paris  and  everyone  there.  I 
heard  you  speak  first  of  this  place  when  we  were  here  in 
the  forest  that  day.  Do  you  remember?  " 

He  nodded.  "  But  I  didn't  live  here,  Phyllis.  It's  too 
confoundedly  lonely.  Now,  a  bit  to  the  south  there's  quite 
a  settlement  in  summer.  It's  impossible  for  you  to  stay 
here!" 

258 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  259 

"  I  can  and  I  must,  Bruce,"  I  cried ;  "  for  it  seems  to 
me  that  since  coming  here  I'm  beginning  to  work  out  my 
own  salvation,  to  destroy  old  beliefs,  and  to  dig  out  new 
ones  for  myself."  Half  laughing  through  my  tears,  I 
pointed  flippantly  to  the  stone  in  the  corner,  and  con- 
tinued, "  That's  where  the  monks  used  to  bang  their 
heads  when  doing  penance ;  so,  if  I  can  raise  a  greater  con- 
sciousness of  my  sin,  it's  ready  for  me ! " 

"  Phyllis,  for  God's  love ! "  Bruce  cried  out  sharply. 
He  caught  me  by  the  shoulders,  twisted  me  round,  and 
looked  into  my  face. 

"  I'm  not  mad,  Bruce,"  I  said  soberly.  "  I'm  sorry  I 
said  that.  It  was  stupid.  Forgive  me!  I  seem  some- 
times scarcely  fit  for  human  society." 

"  Poor  little  broken  child,  poor  girl ! "  he  murmured 
softly. 

I  went  to  the  door  and  looked  out  in  silence  for  some 
time,  during  which  Bruce  did  not  move. 

"  If  it's  true,"  I  said  presently,  without  turning  my 
head,  "  that  there  was  a  Christ  crucified,  I  am  growing 
into  the  conviction  that  He  is  mine;  no  matter  what  I've 
done,  the  child's  yonder,  and  his  dog,  and  those  silent  ser- 
pents sunning  themselves  out  there  on  the  white  boulders 
are  also  a  part  of  him." 

After  a  brief  pause,  Bruce  came  to  my  side  and  scanned 
the  gorges.  "  Phyllis,"  he  said,  in  deep  inflection,  "  with- 
out doubt  the  Master  lived,  a  good  man!  He  had  no 
thought  of  anything  but  universal  love  and  eternal  kind- 
ness. As  you  say,  He  loved  the  dog,  the  serpent,  and 
even  the  ugliest  little  worm  and  insect  that  crawls  on  the 
ground." 

"  Oh,  Bruce  dear,  it's  a  beautiful  thought,  a  wonderful 
belief,"  I  replied  with  a  fresh  rush  of  tears,  "  and  I  want 
to  believe  that  way,  too!  But  tell  me  all  that  happened 
after  I  left  that  night." 


260  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Roger  and  I  are  no  longer  living  together.  We  didn't 
agree  about  you."  He  supplemented  this  after  a  moment's 
reflection  with,  "  And  Max  has  gone  to  England." 

"  Does  Roger  know  where  I  am  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  give  him  your  address,  as  you  requested  me 
not  to.     Still,  he  knows  where  you  are." 
;     My  face  must  have  betrayed  much  anxiety,  and  Bruce 
looked  at  me  and  sighed. 

"  I  want  to  know  all  that  happened,"  I  insisted,  "  all  that 
he  said.  Bruce,  won't  you  tell  me?  " 

"  Roger  told  me  how  he  came  to  love  you  —  and  every- 
thing else." 

"  Yes  ?  "  I  interrogated,  waiting  for  him  to  continue. 

"  He  said  that  the  night  he  asked  you  to  be  his  wife  you 
did  not  tell  him  of  the  — " 

"  No,  I  didn't ! "  My  face  paled  under  his  gaze.  I 
knew  there  was  something  he  wanted  to  tell  me.- 

"  God  knows,  it  was  an  awful  shock  to  him !  Of  course, 
I  had  known  all  along  about  the  boulevards,  and  have 
cursed  myself  a  thousand  times  for  not  speaking  to  you 
about  it.  Roger  told  me  that  until  you  yourself  admitted 
it  he  would  have  staked  his  soul  upon  your  innocence. 
Phyllis  dear,  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  I  would 
stake  my  soul  now,  this  minute,  upon  your  goodness  and 
truth ! " 

I  turned  to  him  suddenly;  but  he  motioned  me  to 
silence. 

'*  Your  life  at  the  flat,  your  face,  your  voice,  every- 
thing, told  me  that." 

He  was  speaking  too  well  of  me.  "  I  loved  him,  Bruce 
dear,  I  loved  him  so !  "  I  sobbed  in  excuse. 

"  And  that  great  love  condones  any  sin  there  might  have 
been,"  he  put  in  swiftly.  "  For  such  love  much  may  be 
pardoned." 

He  went  white  as  he  spoke  the  last  sentence,  and  I  made 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  261 

an  effort  to  touch  him ;  but  he  shook  off  my  hand  nervously 
and  hurried  on: 

"  Phyllis,  I  don't  want  to  offend  you  with  what  I'm  going 
to  say ;  but  things  will  not  go  well  with  you  and  Roger." 
He  hesitated.  "  You've  got  to  have  the  protection  of 
someone  who  loves  you." 

I  endeavored  to  say  something ;  but  the  expression  in  his 
eyes  silenced  me. 

"  I  must  speak !  "  he  said,  almost  harshly.  "  I  came  pur- 
posely for  that.  I  must  protect  you  from  Roger !  " 

I  rose  unsteadily  to  my  feet.  "  Protect  me  from 
Roger?  "  I  repeated.  "  He  couldn't,  he  wouldn't,  harm 
me!" 

Bruce  gave  no  attention  to  my  interruption.  "  And 
then  there's  another  to  be  thought  of  —  the  little  fel- 
low ! "  His  voice  was  twisted  with  pain.  "  It's  for  the 
good  of  both  of  you  that  I  have  come,"  he  murmured. 

"  Tell  me  of  Roger!"  I 'insisted  faintly. 

I  remember  now  how  tenderly  Bruce  bent  over  me  and 
touched  my  face  with  his  large,  white  hands.  "  I  will  tell 
you  everything,  if  first  you  will  answer  a  question  of 
mine." 

I  gave  a  hasty,  affirmative  nod. 

"Phyllis,  do  you  —  do  you  love  your  little  child?  " 

I  drew  back  and  stood  up,  and  before  I  could  reply 
Bruce  had  taken  up  again  hurriedly : 

"  I  couldn't  realize  just  how  you  felt  about  it.  You 
see,  I  didn't  know,  and  I  must  know ! " 

"Why?" 

"  On  Roger's  account." 

He  rose  also  and  looked  down  at  me,  pale  to  the  line  of 
his  hair.  He  waited  for  me  to  answer.  I  put  back  my 
hand  and  braced  myself  against  the  wall. 

"  Why  on  Roger's  account  ?  "  I  got  out  at  last. 

"  I  had  to  come  and  warn  you,"  he  said.     "  I  could  not 


262  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

let  it  go.  Roger  says  that  he  will  take  your  child  away 
from  you  as  soon  as  it  is  born.  I  have  come  to  ask  you 
to  marry  me,  Phyllis,  that  I  may  be  able  to  protect  you 
even  against  him." 

He  made  no  move  to  come  forward;  but  kept  his  eyes 
steadily  upon  me.  Every  drop  of  blood  in  my  body  froze 
under  his  words,  and  sight  left  my  eyes.  Suddenly  the  hor- 
ror of  what  he  had  said  swept  over  me,  and  all  the  love  I  had 
for  my  unborn  baby  surged  within  me  like  a  raging  sea.  I 
remember  that  when  my  sight  came  back  I  saw  Brace's 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  he  quickly  turned  to  the  door; 
but  on  the  threshold  he  paused  and  looked  back.  I  sprang 
forward  and  caught  at  his  arm  dizzily. 

"  Don't  go ! "  I  said.     "  Please  don't  leave  me ! " 

"  I  don't  intend  to.  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  marry 
me.  It  is  the  only  way  to  save  you  and  be  happy  my- 
self." 

My  thoughts  flew  back  to  Roger,  and  I  said  faintly, 
"  He  couldn't  do  that !  He  simply  couldn't  be  so  wicked ! 
Did  he  tell  you  so?  '* 

Bruce  nodded. 

My  spirit  took  fire.  "  He  shall  never  have  my  baby 
so  long  as  I  live ! "  I  cried.  "  Never  —  never !  Why,  he 
couldn't,  Bruce,  he  couldn't !  " 

Then  I  think  I  fainted,  and  when  I  came  to  myself 
Zadie  was  sitting  beside  the  cot  rubbing  my  hands  —  and 
Bruce  was  gone. 

•  •••»••  . 

I  was  sick  for  three  weeks,  not  having  strength  to  raise 
my  head  or  to  think  out  a  plan  whereby  I  might  keep  what 
God  has  given  me. 

One  afternoon  I  said  to  Zadie,  "  Darling,  could  —  could 
Mr.  Everard  take  my  baby  away  from  me?  " 

Zadie  turned  from  the  dress  she  was  mending.  "  Nom 
de  Dieu!  He  won't  vant  eet ! " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  263 

"  Yes,  he  does,"  I  said  wearily.  "  He  thinks  I  am  not 
good  enough  to  have  it." 

"  Vat? "  Zadie  shrieked  out  the  word,  throwing  her 
sewing  from  her. 

"  He  has  said  so.  I  want  to  find  out  if  he  can  take  it  by 
law." 

"  The  law  ees  alvays  for  the  man,"  remarked  Zadie 
darkly. 

I  told  her  slowly  and  with  many  tears  the  story  Bruce 
had  told  me,  and  she  punctuated  my  broken  sentences  with 
grunts. 

"  You  not  luf  the  pig  now?  "  she  demanded. 

"  No,  no ! "  I  cried.  "  He's  too  wicked !  Oh,  if  I  had 
only  realized  how  petty  and  little-souled  he  was ! " 

Zadie  eyed  me  thoughtfully. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  I  asked.  "  T«ll  me, 
Zadie,  can't  you  help  me  ?  " 

"You  luf  thees  Mr.  Bruce?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "  But  I  have  a  great  respect  and  af- 
fection for  him." 

Although  my  words  were  scarcely  audible,  Zadie  caught 
them.  "  Marry  heem,  then,  and  he  steeks  by  you  weez  the 
other  devil.  He  told  me  vhen  you  sick  he  wanted  to  marry 
you.  He  comes  back  soon." 

"I  couldn't  do  that,  Zadie.  I  couldn't!  He  is  too 
good.  It  would  be  the  greatest  crime  I  could  commit.  I 
am  not  good  enough  for  him." 

"  You  too  good  for  any  man,"  she  said  with  finality. 
•  ••••••» 

Babette  sent  me  a  letter.  She  and  Anatole  are  married 
and  are  keeping  house  in  a  little  flat  near  the  Sorbonne 
University.  When  I  am  better,  I  shall  accept  her  invita- 
tion to  their  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

YESTERDAY  I  went  to  Paris  to  see  Father  Beu- 
lais.  He  is  the  one  man  to  whom  I  can  unburden 
myself.  I  realized  that,  if  I'm  going  to  rise  out 
of  my  prccont  state  to  better  conditions,  I  must  gather 
together  all  my  forces.  If  ever  woman  wanted  to  learn 
to  use  the  wings  of  her  soul,  it  is  I. 

At  the  priest's  house  the  concierge  met  me  with  the  in- 
formation that  Father  Beulais  was  out. 

"  He  was  confessing  someone,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  fear  that 
he  has  gone  to  keep  an  appointment.  I  heard  his  door, 
close  five  minutes  ago." 

"  Will  he  be  gone  long?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  think  not.     Will  Madame  wait?  " 

I  assented  briefly,  and  he  ushered  me  into  the  small 
drawing-room.  The  place  was  filled  with  memories ;  for  it 
was  here,  some  weeks  before,  that  I  had  decided  to  end  my 
life  in  order  to  save  another  from  the  priest's  superstition. 
I  have  traveled  a  long  distance  in  spirit  since  then  and  de- 
cided a  lot  of  things  for  myself. 

A  slight  noise  broke  in  upon  my  thoughts.  Somewhere 
a  door  banged,  and  I  heard  the  sound  of  approaching 
voices.  The  portiere  that  divided  the  anteroom  from  the 
room  beyond  stirred  as  a  draft  caught  the  curtains.  The 
owners  of  the  voices  had  entered  the  next  apartment,  and 
one  of  them  I  recognized  as  Father  Beulais. 

"  You  did  not  tell  me  everything,"  he  was  saying,  and  I 
thought  his  voice  was  more  than  ordinarily  solemn. 

I  half  rose,  not  wishing  to  play  the  part  of  listener 

264 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  265 

to  a  private  conversation;  but  the  next  speaker's  voice 
made  me  sink  back  again. 

"  I  want  your  absolution  for  that  one  thing,  Father 
Beulais ;  but  I  will  tell  you  everything  —  now,  if  you  like, 
all  — all!" 

The  tones,  gentle  and  sweet,  were  those  of  Lady  Jane 
Grey !  My  impulse  was  to  speak,  to  cry  out ;  but  a  faint- 
ness  swept  over  me  and  kept  me  glued  to  the  chair. 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments.  Lady  Jane  began 
to  speak  once  more. 

"  I  wanted  to  marry  the  American  and  leave  the  boule- 
vards ;  but  she  took  him  from  me !  " 

"She?" 

"  I  mean  the  American  girl,  the  one  who  was  always 
burning  candles  to  Our  Lady  at  the  Notre  Dame.  You  re- 
member her?  " 

The  priest  gave  a  monosyllabic  assent.  "  You  say  she 
took  him  from  you  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  Yes ;  but  they're  not  together  any  longer,  and  they're 
not  married,  either." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  he  was  angry  when  he  found  out  that  she  had 
been  a  cocotte." 

"  You're  mistaken !  She  was  never  that ! "  the  priest 
said  harshly. 

If  an  almighty  voice  had  ordered  me  to  move  then,  I 
could  not  have  done  so.  My  brain  was  living  and  working 
among  the  events  of  the  past.  Was  it  Fate  or  God  that 
had  brought  me  so  close  to  my  enemy? 

I  thought  I  heard  a  sob ;  then  silence  followed. 

"  But  you  did  not  come  to  tell  me  of  the  American 
woman,"  the  priest  said  presently. 

"  No." 

"  Then  speak,  Child,  speak !  If  you  poor  souls  could 
only  understand  the  plan  of  redemption,  you  would  not 


266  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

look  upon  temporal  things  as  so  necessary.  Death  would 
be  preferable  to  sin.  My  heart  bleeds  with  sorrow  for  you 
all.  If  I  could  do  something  —  if  I  only  could  1 " 

"  The  American  tried  to  help  me  leave  the  boulevards ; 
but  he  wouldn't  save  me  the  way  I  wanted  him  to." 

Lady  Jane  spoke  so  bitterly  that  I  imagined  just  how 
she  looked  as  she  spat  it  forth. 

"  Do  not  forget  that  I  am  a  priest,"  was  the  grave  an- 
swer. 

"  Isn't  that  why  I  came  to  you  ?  And  I  have  something 
to  tell  you, —  I've  left  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel  as  you  ad- 
vised." 

"  I'm  glad."  The  man's  voice  expressed  genuine  pleas- 
ure. 

"  But  that's  not  all,"  Jane  went  on  wearily.  "  I  must 
go  back  to  a  time  about  which  I  haven't  told  you.  A  man 
first  sent  me  to  the  boulevards  when  I  was  only  a  little 
girl;  for  when  he  cast  me  off  my  people  would  not  take 
me  back." 

I  imagine  the  priest  crossed  himself;  for  he  jingled  his 
beads  and  muttered  a  petition  to  the  Virgin. 

"  I  am  with  Casperone  Larodi ! "  Jane's  voice  came 
sharply  through  the  curtains. 

If  I  could  have  made  my  presence  known  just  at  that 
moment !  But  my  limbs  and  throat  were  paralyzed. 

"  You  do  not  expect  me  to  absolve  you  from  some  action 
you  are  committing  over  and  over  again,  do  you  ?  "  de- 
manded the  priest.  "  You  remember  one  day  at  the  Notre 
Dame  that  I  warned  you  against  the  sin  of  repetition  ?  " 

"  So  you  did,  Father ;  but  you  don't  know  what  it  means 
to  have  starvation  staring  you  in  the  face  —  and  I  was  ill 
when  he  took  me  with  him.  One  can't  work  on  the  boule- 
vards when  one  is  ill." 

She  paused,  and  the  priest  offered  no  remark. 

"I  shouldn't  have  done  itt  if  the  American  had  loved 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  267 

me  —  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  pig  of  a  countrywoman 
of  his,  that  worthless  chamois  — " 

"  Hush !  "  ordered  Father  Beulais.  "  You  must  not 
speak  so ! " 

"  But  he  doesn't  love  her  any  more  \ "  cried  Jane.  "  He 
hates  her  and  has  sent  her  away ! " 

She  spoke  with  such  triumphal  assurance  that  I  trembled 
as  if  she  had  dealt  me  a  blow  between  the  eyes.  In  an  in- 
stant she  brought  out: 

"  It  was  Captain  Zadie  who  told  me  about  them.  She's 
a  woman  who  once  lived  in  our  house.  The  red-headed  pig 
nearly  took  my  head  off ! " 

"  Where  is  the  American  woman  now  ?  "  asked  the  priest. 

"  Somewhere  in  the  Forest  of  Fontainebleau.  She's  not 
married  to  Everard.  That's  my  one  consolation.  Holy 
Mary !  How  I  hate  her !  " 

"  Hush,  hush !  "  the  priest  reproved  sternly.  "  Remem- 
ber you  are  in  a  holy  place.  And  the  poor  little  American 
woman  has  suffered  for  her  sin ! " 

"  Oul,  ouiy  out!  And  I'm  glad  of  it.  Roger  Everard 
turned  her  out  directly  after  he  found  out  about  it." 

"  About  what?  "     The  words  came  harshly. 

"  That  she  had  been  on  the  boulevards." 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  the  priest  asked  in  a  low 
voice,  "  How  did  he  discover  that  fact?  " 

"  I  told  him !  "  rasped  Jane. 

How  exultantly  she  spoke !  And  she  made  a  quick  move- 
ment; for  I  heard  the  rustle  of  petticoats  and  the  rattle 
of  bangles. 

"  For  shame,  for  shame !  "  Father  Beulais  chided  her 
with  his  voice  deepened  with  emotion.  "  Some  day  — 
now  I  speak  more  as  a  man  than  as  a  priest  —  you  may 
have  to  call  upon  a  woman  for  mercy,  perhaps  this  same 
woman.  God  grant  that  she  may  be  more  tender  than 
you ! " 


268  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

There  was  a  note  of  prophecy  In  his  tones,  and  he  walked 
up  and  down  the  room. 

"  Poor  little  American  girl ! "  he  murmured  softly. 

"  You  needn't  waste  your  pity  on  her ! "  sneered  Jane. 
"  She's  rich,  with  more  money  than  any  one  person  could 
use  in  a  lifetime." 

"  Perhaps,"  Father  Beulais  paused, —  "  perhaps  that  is 
the  reason  Everard  is  seeking  her." 

Jane's  next  words  caused  me  to  rise  unsteadily. 

"  No,  no,  he  doesn't  care  for  money !  He's  got  enough 
of  his  own.  He's  going  to  take  that  baby  away  from  her 
when  it's  born." 

"How  do  you  know?"  demanded  the  priest. 

"  He  told  Casperone  Larodi.  He  would  have  married 
the  pretty  pig  —  Casperone,  I  mean  — " 

Father  Beulais  stopped  her  with,  "  Cease  your  gossip 
and  go  home !  The  man's  a  brute  to  make  that  girl  suffer 
more.  He  can  and  probably  will  take  the  child;  but — " 

I  brought  to  mind  Bruce's  warning  that  Roger;  but  just 
what  happened  next  I  only  vaguely  remember.  It  must 
have  been  that  my  feet  moved  without  my  own  volition. 
I  dragged  the  portieres  apart  and  stood  breathless  and 
wild-eyed  before  them.  They  turned  at  the  rattle  of  the 
hooks  on  the  curtain  rod,  and  Father  Beulais  sprang  to- 
ward me. 

"Are  you  sure  of  what  you  have  —  just  said?"  I 
panted,  waving  him  away  as  he  tried  to  take  my  hand. 
"  Is  it  possible  for  him  to  take  —  my  baby  from  me?  " 

Lady  Jane  muttered  a  French  oath;  but  Father  Beu- 
lais did  not  reply  to  my  question:  instead  he  asked  an- 
other. 

"How  'did  you  get  in  there?  " 

"  As  I  always  have  —  by  the  door.     But,  oh,  do  tell  — " 

Jane  laughed  jarringly.  "  Mademoiselle  came  to  listen, 
it  seems." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  269 

"  Please  go  back  and  wait  a  few  minutes,"  interposed 
the  priest,  addressing  me.  "  I  shall  come  to  you  very 
soon.v 

He  placed  himself  between  Lady  Jane  and  me;  but  she 
pushed  him  aside  and  came  to  me  white  with  anger. 

"  It  was  like  you,  you  snake,  to  listen !  I  suppose  you 
heard  about  Larodi?  You  would  have  done  better  to  have 
married  him.  He  loved  you  —  he  loves  you  still !  You 
couldn't  make  Roger  happy.  I  could!  I  hate  you  — 
how  I  hate  you !  I  hope  that  all  the  misery  that  can  come 
to  a  woman  will  come  to  you  through  your  — " 

"  Silence !  As  you  hope  for  forgiveness  in  this  world 
and  the  next — "  commanded  the  priest. 

He  did  not  complete  his  sentence ;  but  crossed  himself. 
Then  he  touched  the  bell  for  the  servant,  and  Lady  Jane 
was  shown  out.  The  priest  lifted  the  curtain  for  her  to 
pass  through.  She  halted  a  moment,  and  looked  at  me 
with  an  unaltering  expression  of  hatred,  until  Father  Beu- 
lais  forced  her  away.  I  sank  down,  half  fainting,  in  the 
nearest  chair.  Immediately  the  priest  was  back  at  my 
side. 

"  Sit  up,"  he  ordered  gently.  "  How  came  you  in  that 
room  ?  " 

"  The  concierge  told  me  that  you  were  out,  and  I  was 
waiting  for  you.  I  couldn't  help  coming  in  —  you  can't 
think  what  I've  endured ! " 

"  I  knew  you  would  suffer,"  he  replied  gravely.  "  A  soul 
like  yours  can't  break  God's  laws  without  anguish." 

"  Oh,  I  want  to  be  assured  that  I  can  keep  my  little  one 
—  I  love  it  so ! "  I  lifted  one  of  his  hands  and  kissed  it. 
He  touched  the  crucifix  with  the  other. 

"  A  father  has  more  moral  and  legal  right  than  a 
mother,"  he  said  hesitatingly. 

I  stood  on  my  feet  indignant,  ashamed.  "  How  can  a 
man  be  so  wicked?  And  he  —  he  is  more  heartless  than 


270  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

anyone  else  I  ever  knew.     Oh,  God !  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

He  made  a  deprecating  movement  with  his  hands. 
"  Whatever  agony  you  pass  through  only  helps  your  soul 
to  struggle  upward.  And  this  adversity  is  to  perfect  it 
through  God's  inscrutable  providence." 

I  choked  out  my  reply.  "  I  have  grown  to  believe, 
someway,  somehow,  that  there  is  no  avenging  God:  only 
great,  universal  Love !  " 

"  And  who  told  you  such  a  nefarious  thing?  " 

"Bruce  Stewart,"  I  replied  truthfully.  "He  is  the 
one  good  man  I  know  in  all  the  world." 

"  You  must  talk  with  him  no  more  like  that,"  said  the 
priest.  "  Have  you  thought  that  it  might  be  a  good  thing 
for  you  to  enter  some  sacred  place?  Not  here  in  France, 
—  God  help  our  poor  suffering  sisterhood !  They  won't 
ever  have  a  home  here  again, —  but  say  in  another  country. 
Have  you  ever  thought  that  you  would  like  to  go  back  to 
America?  " 

I  shook  my  head.  " No,"  I  replied.  "No!  I  don't 
want  anything  but  my  baby.  Nothing  —  nothing !  " 

He  stood  in  deep  thought,  and,  remembering  another 
matter  that  had  brought  me  to  him,  I  said  timidly : 

"  Father  Beulais,  I  want  to  give  you  something  for  your 
work,  to  use  as  you  think  best."  I  drew  a  check  from  my 
pocketbook  and  handed  it  to  him.  "  It  will  help,  won't 
it?" 

Glancing  at  it,  he  lifted  his  eyes  upward  and  moved  his 
lips  in  prayer. 

"  I'm  glad  if  you  are  pleased,"  I  said,  before  he  could 
speak. 

"  I  can't  express  myself,"  he  murmured.  "  We  have 
been  needing  money  so  badly  for  our  work !  I  have  been 
asking  for  it.  This  is  my  answer.  I  shall  pray  that  God 
may  make  you  as  happy  as  you  have  made  me ! " 

"  Dear  Father  Beulais,  I  want  nothing  in  return,"  I 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  271 

said.  "  I  owe  you  more  than  you  know.  At  any  rate,  let 
me  think  that  some  little  child  or  suffering  woman  will  be 
benefited,  and  if  you  want  more,  ask  me  1 " 

A  sudden  radiance  illuminated  his  face.  "  I  still  believe 
that  Heaven  intended  you  for  a  Sister  of  Mercy  from  the 
beginning.  God  alone  knows  why  you  were  sent  into  such 
temptation ! " 

I  winced,  and  he  must  have  seen  the  pain  in  my  eyes ;  for 
he  turned  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  I  am  a  man  myself,"  he  went  on ;  "  but  I  am  glad  that 
I  was  saved  from  the  world  of  men,  for  I  should  be  bowed 
with  remorse  if  I  had  been  instrumental  in  making  any 
human  being  suffer  as  you  have  suffered.  It  seems  that 
things  have  been  ordained  wrongly,  and  that  the  power  of 
sin  is  stronger  sometimes  than  God  Himself." 

"  Don't  say  that !  "  I  cried.     "  I  came  here,  hoping  — " 

The  priest  wheeled  about  abruptly,  and  faced  the  minia- 
ture altar  upon  which  were  candles  burning  before  the 
statue  of  Our  Lady.  "  To  think  that  I  should  have  for- 
gotten God's  goodness,"  he  groaned,  "  that  someone  should 
have  to  remind  me  of  it!  Verily,  out  of  the  mouth  of 
babes  — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  quotation;  but  stood  for  a  long 
time  with  his  head  bowed  before  the  Madonna,  his  lips 
moving  in  secret  prayer. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

I'M  nearly  wild  with  anxiety  and  dread.  Added  to 
the  news  Bruce  brought  me,  I've  had  a  letter  from 
Casperone,  and  I  scarcely  dared  to  read  it  to  Zadie; 
but  I  simply  couldn't  keep  it  to  myself.  I  began  by  asking 
her  to  sit  beside  me. 

"  Zadie,"  I  said,  "  do  you  remember  what  Mr.  Stewart 
told  me?" 

"  About  the  other  man  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Yes.  Well,  this  letter,"  I  held  it  up,  "  this  letter  is 
from  the  man  who  stole  his  brother's  baby.  iYou  remem- 
ber Larodi  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  she  said  interestedly. 

"  I'll  read,"  I  went  on,  "  and  then  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
just  what  to  do ;  for  I'm  racked  with  uncertainty." 

Without  waiting  for  her  to  speak,  I  began : 

DEAR  PHYLLIS. — 

I've  met  and  talked  with  Roger  Everard,  and  we  have  made 
a  plan  for  your  future.  He  has  utterly  abandoned  you;  but 
demands  his  child.  I  love  you,  and  would  marry  you,  now 
that  you  have  money,  and  because  I  have  wanted  you  sorely. 
So,  after  a  time,  when  Everard  has  had  his  way,  I  shall  come 
to  you  with  an  offer  of  honorable  marriage.  I  think  it  might 
help  you  to  decide  if  I  send  you  Everard's  message.  He  said 
to  me,  "  Tell  her  that  I  bid  her  to  marry  and  be  respectable." 
I  shall  see  you  soon,  ma  cherie! 

Yours  in  lifelong  devotion, 

CASPERONE. 

I  dropped  the  letter  and  looked  at  Zadie.  Her  face  was 
crimsoned  with  rage. 

"  Vhat  a  pig !     Vhat  a  damn  pig !  "  she  exclaimed. 

272 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Don't  swear,  Zadie  darling !  But  —  oh,  what  shall  I 
do?" 

"  Send  and  get  the  good  man ! "  advised  Zadie. 

I  knew  she  meant  Bruce. 

"  I  can't,  Zadie,  I  can't !  He's  too  good  for  me !  Oh, 
Deary,  isn't  there  some  way  out  for  me?  I  can't  and  won't 
give  up  my  baby,  and  I'd  rather  die  than  marry  Casperone  1 
What  shall  I  do?" 

"  Send  for  the  good  man,"  Zadie  said  again. 

I  only  shook  my  head,  and  there  was  no  more  said  just 
then.  For  an  hour  afterward  Zadie  labored  over  a  letter, 
and  when  I  asked  her  to  whom  she  was  writing  she  said 
laconically : 

"  To  ma  mere" 

The  letter  had  no  sooner  gone  than  she  came  to  my 
side. 

"  I  tell  you  a  lie,  Pheelis.  I  haf  sent  letter  to  Monsieur 
Bruce,  and  he  comes  like  the  vind  to  ma  petite!  " 

I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  whether  I'm  angry  or  not. 
Yes,  I  have,  too.  What's  the  use  of  writing  like  that? 
I'm  crazy  to  see  Bruce  Stewart,  to  have  him  comfort  me. 
What  will  come  out  of  this  tangle  of  human  emotions?  I 
wonder? 

The  more  I  think  of  Roger's  wickedness,  the  more  I 
tremble  for  my  future.  Bruce  shines  out  of  my  past  as  the 
one  noble  influence  in  the  world.  How  many  times  I  have 
wished  that  I  had  known  him  before !  Bruce,  darling  man  ! 
Any  woman  with  sense  would  have  realized  what  you  were 
at  the  very  first !  I  think  now  that  I  really  know  Roger ; 
that  I  must  have  been  in  a  dream  all  those  awful  days. 
Even  then,  I  remember  how  devoted  Bruce  was,  and  can 
still  sniff  the  fragrance  of  the  roses  he  brought  me.  I'm 
too  tired  to  write  any  more! 


274  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

Two  weeks  have  gone  by,  and  over  my  head  has  passed 
the  most  exciting,  most  secret,  days  of  all  my  life;  but 
under  my  feet  the  ground  is  securer. 

I  remember  saying  that  I  knew  but  one  good  man ;  but  I 
had  forgotten  Father  Beulais.  He  is  the  truest  servant 
of  the  Master  he  worships.  Although  I  have  decided  that 
he  is  wrong  in  his  doctrine,  I  am  sure  of  his  sincerity. 

Two  days  after  I  saw  the  priest,  Zadie  and  I  were  sew- 
ing together.  My  thoughts  were  busy  with  threatening 
calamity.  A  footstep  on  the  path  made  me  get  to  my 
feet.  Bruce  Stewart  appeared  in  the  door,  followed  by 
Father  Beulais.  I  stood  unsteadily  and  looked  from  one 
to  the  other.  Bruce's  face  was  set  and  white,  and  the 
priest's  filled  with  solemn  sweetness. 

Bruce  looked  from  Zadie  to  me,  and  halted  as  he  kindly 
asked  her  to  leave  us ;  but  I  placed  my  arm  about  her  shoul- 
ders and  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  If  you  have  anything  to  say,"  I  faltered,  "  let  Zadie 
stay:  she  is  my  friend." 

Bruce  bowed  his  head,  and  Zadie  placed  chairs  for  them 
both.  It  must  have  been  embarrassment  that  kept  them 
from  speaking.  Fra^ois'  voice  from  the  gorges  brought 
us  to  our  senses,  and  Father  Beulais  spoke: 

"  We  have  come  to  help  you,  your  good  friend  and  me." 

"  No,  no  one  can  do  that !  "  I  replied  helplessly.  "  No 
one  is  able  to  do  that !  " 

Bruce  sprang  forward  and  took  my  hands.  "  Dearest 
of  all  women,  I  can !  I  have  come  to  marry  you,  Phyllis  1 
Listen,  Dear,"  he  pleaded,  as  I  slowly  shook  my  head. 
"  Listen,  until  I  have  finished !  Don't  think  I'm  the  least 
bit  self-sacrificing,  as  you  have  said.  I  love  you  so,  Child, 
and  want  to  take  care  of  you !  I  must,  I  must,  or  it  will 
kill  me!" 

Never  had  I  heard  such  a  warm  thrill  in  his  voice,  usu- 
ally so  calmly  measured.  He  was  offering  me  so  price- 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  275 

less  a  peace  that  I  could  only  weep  in  the  agony  of  re- 
fusal. I  resolutely  closed  my  soul  to  the  tenderness  in 
his  tones.  Then  I  saw  that  he  was  thinner  and  quite  pale. 
If  I  had  only  realized  his  heart  bigness  long  ago !  But  I 
did  not  see  my  own  happiness  when  it  was  at  my  very  door. 

"  Will  you  do  this  thing  for  me,  Phyllis  ?  Will  you  let 
Father  Beulais  marry  us,  Dear?  In  spite  of  your  decision, 
I've  had  the  bans  published  in  the  village.  I  shall  only 
watch  over  and  care  for  you.  Phyllis !  For  God's  sake 
don't  say  no  and  shake  your  liead  that  way  —  don't !  " 

I  looked  at  Zadie,  and  she  nodded  emphatically.  I 
turned  away,  tempted  to  be  taken  into  his  arms  for  the 
brief  space  of  a  minute.  But  how  terrible  that  would  be ! 
I  couldn't  marry  this  man  when  another  had  been  —  To 
think  of  Roger  makes  me  shiver.  I  wonder  how  I  ever 
thought  him  good?  But  just  then  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  Bruce  should  not  be  sacrificed  to  the  tragedy  that  had 
swept  me  into  such  dishonor.  Not  one  of  the  three  should 
make  me  change  my  mind,  as  much  as  I  needed  to  be 
shielded  from  the  father  of  my  baby ! 

A  touch  on  my  arm,  and  Father  Beulais  was  beside  me. 

"  Does  Mademoiselle  remember  the  conversation  we  had 
a  long  time  ago  ?  " 

I  cried  in  sudden  fear.  "  Don't  you  try  and  persuade 
me,  too,  Father  Beulais !  Please  don't !  I  won't !  " 

"  Nevertheless,  I  must  speak,"  broke  in  the  priest. 
"  Please  do  not  interrupt  me  when  I'm  talking  to  you. 
This  man  loves  you,  and  has  told  me  that  he  has  loved  you 
from  the  beginning.  You  have  made  an  almost  fatal 
mistake  which  only  a  man  who  does  love  you  can  save  you 
from.  God  in  His  mercy  has  sent  him  to  you.  If  you 
turn  from  him,  you  will  make  another  mistake." 

He  stopped,  and  I  flashed  a  look  at  Bruce.  His  face 
wras  ashen,  his  eyes  bent  upon  me  sternly.  Something  — 
I  say  it  in  all  reverence  —  some  emotion  filled  me  with  the 


276  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

most  exquisite  sense  of  rest.  How  different  it  had  been 
with  Roger!  In  my  girlish  passion  I  had  demanded  him. 
In  Bruce's  uplifted  love  he  demanded  me,  simply  to  save 
me.  He  was  rich  in  the  spring  of  his  twenty-five  years, 
while  I  had  grown  old  —  old  during  a  few  months'  ex- 
perience. 

"  Can't  you  two  see  the  wickedness  of  this  thing?  "  I 
sighed. 

Father  Beulais  took  a  long  breath.  "  Your  little  child 
will  be  saved  from  a  bad  father ! " 

My  head  began  to  whirl,  and  my  heart  to  beat  until  I 
could  hear  it.  I  don't  remember  just  how  it  all  came 
about ;  but  when  I  again  realized  anything  I  was  standing 
beside  Bruce  Stewart,  his  arm  around  me,  and  Father  Beu- 
lais was  saying  slowly : 

"  Those  whom  God  hath  joined  together,  let  no  man 
put  asunder ! " 

No  more  had  the  solemn  words  pronounced  me  a  wife 
than  the  shame  of  it  all  crushed  me.  The  wonderful  sac- 
rifice of  my  husband  and  my  acceptance  of  it  brought  me 
infinite  pain. 

"  I'm  sorry  —  I'm  sorry !  "  I  cried,  covering  my  face. 
"  Oh,  how  could  I  have  done  it  ?  How  could  I  have  lis- 
tened to  you  both?  It  was  wicked  —  wicked!  Pardon, 
Bruce,  pardon ! " 

I  was  on  my  knees  near  the  stone  cross.  Bruce  lifted 
me  up  into  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  my  beloved !  You  are  my  wife,"  he  murmured, 
"  and  may  God  do  to  me  as  I  do  to  you !  Listen,  Love, 
listen !  I  shall  care  for  you  only  when  you  need  me,  that 
is  all!" 

I  remember  that  before  Father  Beulais  went  away  I 
knelt  at  his  feet  while  he  blessed  me.  Zadie  was  quiet, 
save  for  a  sob  now  and  then.  I  evermore  distinctly  re- 
member that  Bruce  took  me  in  his  arms  and,  tenderly 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  277 

kissing  my  forehead,  followed  Father  Beulais  from  the 
monastery. 

After  he  went  away,  I  tried  to  figure  out  how  I  had 
been  capable  of  it.  That  a  woman  as  sinful  as  I  dared 
to  link  my  wretched  life  with  that  of  such  a  man!  But 
f —  but  he  is  my  husband,  my  very,  very  own !  And  as  I 
write,  I  weep  over  us  all, —  over  Bruce  with  his  dignity  of 
soul,  over  my  baby,  my  little  unborn  baby,  and  lastly 
over  myself.  My  baby  is  mine  by  God's  decree,  and  — 
and  Bruce's  by  adoption. 

Every  day  since  I've  longed  for  the  sight  of  his  face, 
although  the  thought  of  him  makes  me  tremble.  The 
difference  between  my  affection  for  him  and  the  oldtime  — 
love  for  Roger  — 

I  mustn't  even  write  "  love  "  when  I  speak  of  Roger. 
It  was  a  mad,  rash  passion,  during  which  I  threw  my 
young  life  under  his  feet  to  trample  on. 

Today  in  my  mail  that  Zadie  brought  from  the  village 
was  a  letter  from  little  Nan.  She  had  inclosed  a  ten-dol- 
lar bill  to  apply  upon  the  price  of  her  passage  home, 
saying  that  they  were  too  poor  to  send  more  at  present. 
Poor  little  girl!  I  shall  send  it  back  with  a  sum  for  her- 
self. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

PEOPLE  say  that  Fate  does  not  bring  about  coinci- 
dences in  real  life ;  but,  when  I  think  of  all  that  has 
happened  to  me  during  the  last  months,  I  am  con- 
vinced that  almost  everything  that  we  do,  or  say,  or  meet, 
is  a  thread  in  the  intricate  web  of  purpose.  I  write  this 
because  of  the  manner  Zadie's  life  and  mine  have  become 
interwoven  in  the  tangle  of  circumstances. 

I  was  sewing  this  afternoon,  when  I  heard  two  voices. 
One  was  that  of  Mere  Durand,  and  mingled  with  her  rough 
patois  I  heard  a  man's  halting  French.  The  next  mo- 
ment a  shadow  fell  across  the  stone  floor,  and  I  rose  to 
my  feet.  A  tall,  elderly  man,  hat  in  hand,  stood  there. 
As  I  invited  him  in,  his  upright  figure  bent  slightly  to 
allow  him  to  enter  the  low  doorway.  There  was  something 
familiar  in  his  appearance;  though  to  my  knowledge,  I 
have  never  seen  him  before. 

He  hesitated  in  embarrassment.  "  Miss  —  Miss  Fitz- 
patrick  ?  "  He  stopped  with  a  conscious  blush. 

"  Yes,"  I  said  slowly. 

I  had  not  dared  to  pronounce  my  new  name  yet.  I  re- 
member how  it  flew  to  my  lips,  and  only  with  effort  did  I 
keep  it  back. 

"  I  am  Lord  Donnithorne.     I  am  — " 

"  Maxey  Donnithorne's  father ! "  I  gasped. 

"  His  grandfather,  rather !  I  wish  I  were  his  father, 
poor  lad ! " 

I  expected  that  he  had  come  to  censure  me  for  telling 
Maxey  the  secret  of  his  birth,  and  felt  instinctive  hos- 
tility. I  would  champion  Zadie  to  the  last  breath  I  drew ! 

278 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  279 

The  Englishman  must  have  penetrated  my  thoughts ;  for 
he  interposed: 

"  I  can't  deny  that  I'm  sorry  you  told  him :  it  has 
caused  him  such  keen  distress." 

The  little  break  in  his  voice  revealed  more  of  his  anx- 
iety on  Max's  account  than  any  words  could  have  done. 

"  The  reason  I  have  come  to  you  is  to  discover,  if  pos- 
sible, where  —  Maxey's  mother  is.  I  obtained  your  ad- 
dress from  Mr.  Stewart." 

Then  Bruce  has  not  told  the  Englishman  that  Zadie 
lives  with  me  1 

"  Do  I  understand  that  Maxey  wants  to  see  Zadie,"  I 
asked,  "  that  he  wants  to  know  his  mother?  "  and  I  added 
bitterly,  "  He  met  her  once  —  and  insulted  her  to  her 
face!" 

"  So  he  told  me,"  replied  Lord  Donnithorne.  Losing 
his  composure,  he  exclaimed,  "  Miss  Fitzpatrick,  the  boy 
felt  so  terrible  over  her  that  for  a  time  we  feared  he  would 
lose  his  reason." 

"Won't  you  tell  me  about  it?"  I  implored.  "Tell 
me  of  everything  that  has  happened.  I  have  heard  noth- 
ing since  the  night  I  —  last  saw  him." 

"  He  was  nearly  frantic  when  he  came  to  England  — 
But  possibly  I  had  better  tell  you  first  of  our  own  boy  and 
his  associations  with  Maxey's  mother." 

"  She  told  me,"  I  replied  softly. 

"  Then  you  know  that  my  son,  my  only  son,  Rupert, 
was  only  nineteen  when  Max  was  born  ?  " 

I  nodded. 

"  And  that  his  mother  came  away  to  France  — " 

"  She  was  sent  away ! "  I  cried  sharply,  not  willing  to 
concede  one  inch  of  Zadie's  ground.  "  She  would  never 
have  willingly  left  her  baby  nor  her  husband!  " 

"  Possibly  not,"  answered  Lord  Donnithorne,  bending 
his  head.  "  I  did  not  then  concern  myself  with  particu- 


280  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

lars.  My  wife  laid  the  specter  that  rose  in  our  path  with- 
out calling  for  my  aid.  She  thought  that  she  was  acting 
for  the  best." 

Oh,  the  pity  of  it  all!  How  could  Lady  Donnithorne 
have  imagined  that  she  was  doing  right, —  this  beautiful 
woman  with  a  beautiful  home,  husband,  and  son?  Could 
any  woman  worthy  of  her  sex  have  sent  away  a  defense- 
less child  into  an  unknown  life? 

Lord  Donnithorne  brought  me  out  of  my  reverie  by  ris- 
ing from  his  chair  and  pacing  the  floor.  The  heels  of  his 
boots  clicked  upon  the  stones  as  they  slipped  between  the 
rugs. 

"  I  have  promised  Max,"  he  continued  presently,  "  that 
I  would  do  all  in  my  power  to  aid  his  mother.  I  am  here 
to  keep  that  promise.  The  only  thing  we  want  to  avoid, 
of  course,  is  publicity." 

I  offered  no  comment.  He  paused  in  his  walk  and 
looked  down  into  my  face. 

"  Where  is  the  woman  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply.  "  It 
seems  that  I  cannot  breathe  until  I've  seen  her!  I  could 
scarcely  keep  Max  from  coming  here  first." 

"  She  is  out,"  I  said.  "  She  won't  be  home  before  — 
three  o'clock.5* 

I  caught  a  glint  in  his  blue  eyes,  and  stumbled  over  the 
words.  My  hesitation  was  followed  by  his  face  becom- 
ing set,  almost  hard ;  but  he  spoke  resolutely. 

"  Then  I  must  make  you  understand  one  thing  that  I've 
promised  my  boy.  His  wishes  to  disclose  his  identity  to 
—  to  —  what  did  you  say  her  name  was  ?  " 

"  To  his  mother,"  I  said  softly. 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes !  But  it  is  very  bitter  to  let  anyone 
claim  him  after  all  these  years.  Lady  Donnithorne  and 
I  acted  wrongly  toward  this  young  woman.  Believe  me, 
we  are  suffering  for  it  now." 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  281 

He  demonstrated  no  emotion  save  for  the  clutching  of 
the  gloved  fingers,  and  the  nervous  twitch  of  his  lips. 

"  I  want  to  help  her,"  said  he  presently. 

"You're  not  going  to  offer  her  money?"  I  cried,  in 
affright. 

"  God  forbid !  I'm  aware  that  she  is  sensitive  upon  that 
point.  Max  confessed  to  me  that  he  hoped  at  first  that 
you  had  told  him  a  falsehood,  or  that  you  were  mistaken. 
It  was  your  knowledge  of  the  jade  ring  that  convinced 
him.  I  shall  never  forget  how  he  faced  Lady  Donni- 
thorne !  For  a  moment  he  forgot  all  that  he  owed  her  — ' 
a  tide  of  color  suffused  his  face,  and  he  lifted  trembling 
fingers  to  wipe  his  brow.  "  She  has  been  as  tender  to 
him  as  any  mother  could  be,  Miss  Fitzpatrick.  You  know, 
he's  a  proud  boy,  and  his  young  heart  was  hurt,  sorely 
hurt.  I  didn't  know  he  possessed  so  much  spirit.  But 
I'll  tell  you  what  transpired ;  for  I  think  you  should  know, 
you  seem  so  thoroughly  admitted  into  our  dark  secret." 

"  Whatever  you  tell  me,"  I  replied,  "  I  shall  always 
regard  sacredly." 

"  Thank  you."  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and 
little  Violetta  whined,  and  uttered  a  shrill  cry  as  I  did  not 
notice  her.  I  picked  her  up  tenderly. 

"  We  were  expecting  Maxey  in  answer  to  his  telegram," 
Lord  Donnithorne  said  presently.  "  I  met  him  at  the 
station  with  the  brougham,  and  he  asked  me,  as  we  were 
driving  home,  if  the  thing  were  true.  I  denied  it,  of 
course;  but  he  insisted  upon  questioning  Lady  Donni- 
thorne. She  was  taken  by  surprise,  and  confessed. 
When  he  had  been  told  everything  —  God !  I  shall  never 
forget  his  face !  He  was  like  a  madman  !  " 

"  What  did  he  say?  "  I  asked  tremblingly. 

"  He  said  some  things  I  can't  repeat  —  they  were  ter- 
rible." Lord  Donnithorne's  voice  shook.  "  He  told  my 


282  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

wife  he  could  never  forgive  her;  that  she  was  a  murderer 
and  worse.  He  said  —  he  said  that  we  could  have  saved 
his  mother  and  father,  too,  for  him,  had  we  desired,  and 
that  —  but  I  need  not  harrow  you  with  this.  We  tried 
to  argue  with  him;  but  he  was  past  listening  to  reason. 
Then  he  became  ill,  and  my  wife  was  so  broken  down  that 
she  begged  me  to  agree  to  everything  the  boy  demanded. 
If  I  hadn't  come  to  France,  he  would  have  come  for  her 
alone." 

"  There  is  but  one  way  to  help  her,"  I  said,  leaning  for- 
ward. 

He  turned  abruptly.     "And  that?" 

"  Maxey's  mother  can  be  redeemed  only  by  living  with 
her  son." 

"  Oh,  it  can't  be !  Don't  you  realize  how  impossible  that 
is  with  a  woman  of  her  class  ?  " 

I  answered  him  relentlessly.  "  It's  all  the  more  imper- 
ative when  you  admit  to  yourself,  Lord  Donnithorne,  that 
but  for  you  and  your  wife  Captain  Zadie  would  not  have 
led  the  life  she  has  had  to." 

He  moved  uneasily,  and  studied  me  half  doubtingly. 
"  Captain  Zadie  —  Captain  Zadie  — "  he  muttered.  "  It 
is  scarcely  the  name  we  should  use.  After  all,  she  is  Max- 
ey's  mother." 

"  She  is  Captain  Zadie  of  the  Paris  boulevards  as  well," 
said  I.  "  And,  while  I  am  helping  her  all  that  I  can,  it 
will  take  a  greater  influence  than  mine  to  save  her  abso- 
lutely. She  is  proud  and  hates  charity ;  but,  Lord  Donni- 
thorne, she  has  a  bigger  soul  than  any  woman  you  or  I 
know.  I  tell  this  to  you  for  your  comfort.  She  is  a 
better  woman  than  I,  a  better  woman  than  many  who  may 
shrink  at  hearing  her  name." 

Across  his  proud  face  an  expression  of  pain  settled. 
**  She  is  in  —  in  Paris  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  I  said  softly,  "  and  she  never  will  go  back  if  I 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  283 

can  prevent  her.  But  I  warn  you  that  you  and  your  wife, 
with  all  your  family  pride  at  your  back,  could  not  be  so 
proud  as  this  woman  you  censure,  and  if  you  say  anything 
to  offend  her  — " 

"  Rest  assured  I  shall  not  do  anything  to  hurt  her  feel- 
ings," he  said.  "  I  know  Max  too  well  to  suppose  that 
he  would  forgive  me  if  I  did.  I  should  lose  my  boy  — 
and,  Miss  Fitzpatrick,  except  for  my  wife,  he  is  dearer 
than  all  the  world  to  me ! " 

My  vision  blurred  with  tears.  There  was  something 
sincere  and  simple  about  this  great  Englishman  which  re- 
minded me  of  Maxey  at  his  best. 

"  She  will  be  here  tomorrow?  "  he  demanded. 

I  inclined  my  head. 

"  Then  Max  and  I  will  come  together  —  early,  you 
understand.  You  will  not  tell  her  of  my  visit  ?  " 

"  May  I  not  prepare  her?  "  I  pleaded. 

"  No,  you  may  not !  " 

"  But  is  it  fair  to  her?  " 

"  I  think  so.  I  promised  Max  that  he  should  be  the  first 
to  tell  her  of  their  relation." 

His  tone  was  decisive,  and  I  offered  no  further  objec- 
tion. With  bowed  head  he  walked  to  the  door;  but  there 
he  wheeled  and  came  back  with  extended  hand. 

"  Goodby,"  said  he.  "  I  cannot  thank  you  enough  for 
—  for  the  sympathy  and  interest  you  have  shown." 

From  the  window  I  watched  his  tall  figure  until  it  dis- 
appeared down  the  white  path. 

»;•«••  s  *  K 

And  now  I'm  sitting  in  the  doorway  writing  in  this 
book  and  waiting  patiently  for  the  sight  of  Zadie.  Surely, 
if  there  is  anything  in  mental  telepathy,  she  will  divine 
that  I  have  something  on  my  mind !  If  only  I  could  take 
her  in  my  arms  and  tell  her  the  secret !  But  I  have  prom- 
ised Lord  Donnithorne ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

IT  is  over  at  last!     And  what  a  day  it  has  been!     I 
could  scarcely  sleep  last  night,  in  my  anxiety  to  warn 
Zadie  of  her  coming  joy.     This   morning  I   fussed 
about  her,  trying  to  arrange  the  stiff  red  hair  into  softer 
folds  about  her  mottled  face.     I  was  strung  up  to  the  top- 
notch  of  excitement. 

"  You  see,  Dear,"  I  trembled,  "  a  little  bird  told  me 
that  someone  might  come  this  morning.  Let's  put  on 
our  prettiest  dresses,  Zadie." 

Her  brow  lifted  as  she  considered  my  face.  "  You  ees 
feeling  better,  thanks  to  God's  name ! "  said  she.  "  I'll 
put  on  my  green  dress." 

"  Oh,  Zadie,  you  look  so  well  in  your  white  one ! " 

"  White  ?  White  ees  not  for  old  voman  like  me.  I  haf 
only  the  white  you  gif  me.  I'll  wear  the  green." 

I  knew  by  the  set  of  her  jaw  that  she  would  carry  out 
her  plan.  I  sighed  when  I  thought  of  the  violent  red 
hair  in  contrast  with  the  vivid  green  of  the  voluminous 
dress;  but,  fearing  that  she  would  insist  upon  going  out 
and  leaving  me  alone  with  my  callers,  I  went  on  sooth- 
ingly : 

"  Put  on  anything  you  like,  Darling." 

I  stood  on  tiptoe  and  kissed  her.  Zadie  was  used  to  my 
caresses,  and  often  gave  me  one  in  return.  I  hoped  she 
would  change  her  mind  and  dress  in  white ;  but  she  kept  to 
her  resolution,  and  came  forth  resplendently  clad  in  green. 

"  Zadie !  "  I  expostulated.     "  You  have  too  much  rouge 
on  your  lips.     Darling,  Darling,  do  take  a  bit  off !  " 
She  went  to  the  dressing  table,  picked  up  a  mirror,  and 

284 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  285 

survcj-ed  her  reflection.  From  her  position,  she  turned 
and  regarded  me  smilingly. 

"  Now,  Pheelis,  that  red  mek  a  pretty  bow.  I  haf  put 
it  on  bien  today." 

She  added  an  extra  touch  of  black  to  her  lashes  as  she 
spoke.  I  said  no  more;  for  I  remembered  how  many 
times  I  had  argued  this  point  with  her  and  had  lost  my 
breath  for  my  pains.  For  at  least  fifteen  minutes  we  sat 
waiting  in  silence.  Then  I  caught  the  sound  of  an  auto- 
mobile in  the  distance.  I  strove  to  calm  my  throbbing 
pulses,  watching  Maxey's  mother  mutely. 

"  He  ees  coming,"  said  Zadie,  "  and  I  think  I  just  take 
Fran9ois  for  a  valk.  I  not  want  to  be  sitting  here  round 
vhen  you  talk  to  fine  folks.  Eh?  Bien,  he  ees  here  now !  " 

The  machine  came  to  a  standstill,  and  I  saw  the  shadow 
of  a  man  flash  across  the  window.  Zadie  thrust  her  head 
through  the  opening,  and  only  her  body  was  visible  as 
Lord  Donnithorne  and  Maxey  stepped  into  the  room. 

I  am  sure  my  heart  stopped  beating  for  a  full  minute, 
and  it  was  small  wonder  I  was  unable  to  speak.  I  got  up 
faintly,  and  held  out  both  hands  to  Max.  I  knew  he  had 
not  seen  the  other  woman,  and,  as  Zadie's  head  was  so  far 
out,  her  ears  had  not  caught  the  sound  of  their  greet- 
ings. 

"Phyllis!"  cried  Max.  "My  God!  where  is  she?  I 
can't  wait  to  see  her ! "  He  grasped  my  hands.  The 
boyish  face  was  pale,  drawn  into  deep  lines.  His  illness 
had  left  unmistakable  signs  of  suffering. 

Zadie  drew  back  slowly.  With  a  simultaneous  glance 
both  men  caught  sight  of  the  huge  figure  in  green  as  it 
turned  clumsily  toward  them.  And  as  Zadie's  eyes  fell 
upon  the  boy  Max  saw  and  knew  her  instantly.  I  could 
no  more  have  uttered  a  word  than  I  could  have  flown.  So 
I  waited  and  waited,  and  everyone  else  did  the  same.  Lord 
Donnithorne  stood  just  inside  the  room,  his  high-bred  face 


286  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

white  to  his  ears.  Then,  to  relieve  my  anxiety,  I  sat  down 
in  a  chair.  Still  my  lips  refused  to  speak ;  and  for  polite- 
ness* sake  I  tried  to  rise,  but  fell  back  inertly. 

Zadie  stared  back  at  the  English  boy  for  the  better 
part  of  a  minute ;  then  Maxey  lifted  his  proud  young  face 
with  the  sweetest  smile  I  have  ever  seen  on  a  human  being. 
But  Zadie's  expression  didn't  change  by  so  much  as  the 
wink  of  an  eye.  The  seamed  mouth,  bright  scarlet  with 
rouge,  sagged  at  each  corner  stolidly,  and  her  face  was 
as  heavy  and  unemotional  as  usual.  Her  dark  red  hair 
glistened  with  brilliantine  and  hung  over  the  mottled  fore- 
head in  a  huge  pompadour.  Her  face  seemed  to  grow 
gray  and  old,  and  suddenly  her  lips  twitched  at  the  cor- 
ners. She  straightened  up  with  a  jerk,  ran  her  fingers 
through  her  hair,  and  turned  to  me. 

"  You  haf  callaires,  and  not  anyone  I  know.  I  go  out 
with  Fra^ois  a  leetle  while." 

I  knew  the  tumult  going  on  in  the  dear,  big  heart.  She 
hadn't  the  slightest  idea  that  it  had  all  been  arranged. 
Max  took  the  matters  into  his  own  hands.  He  still  smiled 
at  her  —  and  I  loved  him  for  not  looking  the  grotesque 
figure  over.  He  was  trying  to  search  out  the  mother-soul 
beneath  the  color  in  the  faded  eyes. 

"  You  —  are  —  my  —  mother ! "  he  said  jerkily. 

Like  an  animal  at  bay,  Zadie  turned  and  glanced  from 
him  to  the  window,  thinking  to  escape  that  way.  But 
Maxey's  voice  recalled  her : 

"  You  are  my  mother !  "  he  said  again. 

This  time  his  tone  was  caressing,  with  no  doubt  in  it. 
What  a  darling  boy  he  was !  Zadie  had  not  noticed  Lord 
Donnithorne  after  the  first  hasty  glance,  and  had  forgot- 
ten me.  She  was  cognizant  only  of  her  young  son  whom 
she  intended  to  save  from  disgrace  in  spite  of  her  own 
yearning. 

"  Beast ! "    she  whispered   with   bated   breath,    shoving 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  287 

aside  the  appealing  hands  held  out  to  her.  "  I  haf  no  — 
son,  damn  you !  " 

Her  oath  made  Max  drop  his  hands,  and  Lord  Donni- 
thorne  winced. 

"  I  vant  to  go  out,"  Zadie  muttered  again,  turning  with 
dizzy,  uncertain  steps  toward  the  door;  but  Max  went 
close  to  her.  Stretching  out  his  hands  toward  her,  he 
cried  sharply,  in  agony: 

"Mother!  Mother!  Ma  mere,  Beloved!  I  love  you! 
I  love  you!  You  are  my  mother!  I  am  sure  of  that! 
My  father,  Rupert  Donnithorne,  was  your  husband.  Oh, 
don't  —  don't  turn  away  from  me !  I  want  you  so ! " 

His  voice  became  sharp  and  pleading  as  he  finished. 
He  caressed  the  one  word  "  Mother  "  as  it  fell  from  his 
lips,  in  a  tone  as  soft  as  velvet.  It  reached  the  tender, 
bleeding  heart  of  Zadie,  and  I  saw  her  tremble  piteously; 
but  she  motioned  him  away  with  a  gesture.  I  could  only 
dash  the  tears  from  my  eyes,  and  Lord  Donnithorne 
coughed. 

"  I  haf  no  son !  "  Her  lips  framed  with  determined  ef- 
fort. "  I  ees  cocotte  from  Paree !  That  ees  where  I  lif , 
and  that  ees  where  I  go !  Geet  'way !  " 

But  Maxey  was  not  to  be  daunted.  With  the  aggres- 
sion of  his  sex,  he  drove  her  inch  by  inch  before  him  until 
she  was  against  the  wall. 

"  Will  you  swear,"  he  said  solemnly,  standing  in  front 
of  her,  "  upon  the  soul  of  Rupert  Donnithorne  who  is  dead, 
that  I'm  not  your  son  ?  If  you  are  my  mother,  my  father 
loved  you,  and  searched  in  vain  for  you  after  you  were 
gone.  And  —  and  then  —  he  died  for  love  of  you !  I 
say  you  must  swear  upon  my  father's  soul  that  you  are 
not  my  mother ! " 

There  is  only  one  way  to  express  Zadie's  efforts  to  hide 
her  emotion.  She  whimpered  like  a  hurt  child  worsted  at 
play.  "  Oh,  mon  Dieu,  mon  Dieu!  How  I  lufed  him, 


288  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

too ! "  A  sob  came  between  each  hoarsely  uttered  word, 
and  her  eyes  sought  help  of  me.  "  Tell  my  leetle  pretty 
boy  —  oh,  Pheelis,  for  hees  own  sake,  for  hees  sake  —  I 
haf  no  son !  " 

Her  whole  soul  was  weighted  with  tears  and  prayers. 
The  cry  rang  out  strange  and  loud,  breaking  the  barriers 
Max  had  been  endeavoring  to  tear  away.  Two  strong 
young  arms  closed  about  her,  and  the  boy  tried  to  raise 
his  mother's  face;  but  she  kept  her  red  hands  tightly 
pressed  against  it. 

Maxey  was  speaking  again :  "  You  will  kiss  me,  ma 
mere,  now  that  I  have  found  you !  " 

At  that  moment  Max  Donnithorne  seemed  a  hero  to 
me.  I  knew  how  madly  Zadie,  with  her  big-soul  nature, 
desired  to  smother  the  pretty  English  boy  with  kisses,  to 
snatch  him  to  her  starved  heart  and  accept  the  love  he 
offered ;  so  I  urged : 

"  Kiss  him,  Zadie.     He  is  your  own  little  English  son." 

I  used  the  words  she  had  spoken  to  me  in  those  days 
long  ago,  and  she  straightened  up  quickly.  A  smile  al- 
most angelic  radiated  her  usually  passionless  face. 

"Vait!     Vait!"  she  beseeched. 

It  was  almost  a  command,  a  desire  for  a  moment's  time. 

"  Vait ! "  she  said  again,  struggling  to  be  free ;  and 
Max  released  her. 

She  shoved  her  red  head  out  of  the  window  once  more, 
and  only  I  saw  what  she  was  doing.  I  suppose  I  shouldn't 
have  seen  her  hadn't  I  had  the  view  of  her  profile  from  the 
position  I  held  on  the  chair.  A  smacking  sound  came 
from  her  direction.  Zadie  was  sucking  the  rouge  from 
her  lips,  running  her  tongue  quickly  backward  and  for- 
ward, until,  when  she  turned,  they  were  without  a  vestige 
of  red.  Her  eyes  met  mine  in  one  single,  soulful,  flash- 
ing glance.  She  was  ready  for  the  benediction  of  a  son's 
first  kiss  —  for  a  holy  caress  from  the  little  child  she  had 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  289 

loved  so  devotedly  during  the  bitter  years  on  the  Boule- 
vard St.  Michel. 

My  eyes  are  misty  \vith  new  memories.  I  can't  write 
just  how  Max  soothed  her;  but  I  well  remember  how  the 
big-souled  Englishman  did  his  part.  I  know  that  he 
shrank  from  the  green  dress,  the  red  hair,  and  the  woman 
in  general.  However,  not  the  slightest  loo!:  showed  that 
he  did  not  regard  her  as  the  finest  lady  In  the  land. 

"  This  is  my  grandfather,  Mother ! "  There  was  no 
regret  in  Maxey's  voice,  and  tremblingly  Zadie  took  the 
man's  hand. 

"  We  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  Maxey's  mother  with 
us,"  Lord  Donnithorne  said  in  a  low,  conventional  tone, 
and  I  saw  Max  flash  him  such  a  glance  of  love  and  grati- 
tude that,  if  his  grandfather  had  never  had  another,  he 
could  have  been  satisfied  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Then  I 
grew  tired,  so  weary  that  Zadie  exclaimed  at  my  pallor, 
and  she  took  Max  out  into  the  gorges.  Lord  Donni- 
thorne followed  at  a  distance.  I  shall  never  know  just 
what  was  said ;  but  when  they  had  gone  to  the  village,  and 
Zadie  was  sitting  by  the  door,  she  said,  running  her  fin- 
gers through  her  hair: 

"  You  theenk,  Pheelis,  my  hair  would  be  lufly  if  it  was 
gray?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  with  happy  tears.  "  I  love  gray 
hair." 

"  I  would  look  more  leke  — " 

"  Maxey's  mother,"  I  broke  in  softly. 

Her  dear,  raddled  face  changed  from  red  to  white ;  she 
stood  up  quickly.  "  I  ees  my  Maxey's  mother,  and  in 
heem  I  forget  Boulevard  St.  Michel." 

After  that  we  were  both  silent.  From  the  somber 
gorges  came  the  cry  of  a  night-bird,  shrill  at  first,  then 
slowly  reducing  to  a  sleepy  twitter.  The  sound  broke 
into  Zadie's  thoughts, 


290  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Let's  go  to  bed,"  she  said,  "  and  you  sleep  weez  me  in 
my  room  tonight.  I  beleef  I  see  spooks,  if  you  not." 

Zadie  begged  this  between  laughing  and  crying.  La- 
ter, when  I  thought  she  was  sleeping  and  had  slipped  out 
to  write,  I  heard  her  get  out  of  bed  and  go  over  to  the 
washstand. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Zadie?  "  I  asked. 

"  You  theenk  you  ees  the  only  one  not  sleep  ?  "  she  re- 
torted, turning  a  sublimely  happy  face  toward  me. 

I  smiled,  and  went  on  with  this  scribble.  When  she 
thought  I  wasn't  watching  her,  Maxey's  mother  poured  the 
contents  of  her  lip  rouge  bottle  into  the  wash-basin. 
What  a  heavenly  sensation  to  be  a  —  Mother ! 

•  ••••«•• 

If  I  can't  call  myself  contented,  at  least  a  spirit  of 
thankfulness  is  growing  in  me  day  by  day.  There  is 
much  to  be  happy  over;  for  I  can  rejoice  with  Zadie,  now 
that  she  has  come  into  her  own,  and  I  am  proud  and  glad 
that  Max  has  proved  his  worth. 

I  have  persuaded  Zadie  to  buy  some  simple  little  house 
dresses.  They  do  improve  her  so !  Only  last  week  I  dis- 
covered her  making  a  great  rent  in  her  green  frock. 
Aghast,  I  asked  her  what  she  was  doing. 

"  Maxey  not  like  eet,  I  theenk,"  said  she,  making  an- 
other vicious  tear.  "  I  ees  going  to  cut  it  up.  I  not 
wear  eet  again." 

"  He  didn't  tell  you  so,  Zadie?  "  I  questioned. 

"  No ;  but  vhen  I  say  to  him  you  like  eet,  he  say  slow 
he  theenk  he  leke  me  best  in  black  or  gray.  That  ees 
enough  for  me !  "  The  scissors  made  another  gap  in  the 
cloth. 

"Wait,  Zadie,  don't  cut  it  up!  Give  it  to  Madame 
Durand." 

"  If  you  vish,  Pheelis*     I  now  take  a  needle  and  cotton 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  291 

and  sew  eet  up  once  more.     I  ees  going  to  have  some  fine 
black  dresses." 

I  knew  that  this  was  an  effort  on  her  part ;  yet  I  verily 
believe  that  she  likes  black  now,  because  Maxey  said  he 
admired  it! 

»..«..«« 

Roger  Everard  and  Father  Beulais  have  said  that 
woman's  first  trouble  came  from  the  serpent;  that  he  has 
been  her  worst  enemy ;  that  she  has  an  inborn  fear  of  him, 
reaching  down  the  ages  from  the  Garden  of  Eden.  But 
I  have  discovered  this,  that  serpents  are  more  afraid  of 
me  than  I  am  of  them.  I  love  them  dearly,  because  of 
their  beauty  and  vibrant  life  —  because  I  have  the  firm 
belief  that  God  loves  them  as  much  as  He  does  us.  Often, 
when  I  have  been  walking  in  the  gorges,  I  have  seen  a 
snake  lift  its  head  from  a  little  groove  at  the  side  of  a 
boulder,  and  glide  away,  graceful  and  terrified,  before  I 
could  approach  it.  Of  course,  there  is  Napoleon,  my  in- 
valid; yet  even  he  shrinks  from  me,  and  ventures  out  only 
when  he  is  hungry,  poor  thing! 

If  Zadie  weren't  becoming  used  to  my  eccentricities, 
she'd  think  I  had  gone  mad.  Nothing  will  induce  her  to 
go  near  the  box  in  which  the  invalid  lives.  But  I'm  glad 
that  I  brought  him  here,  because  he  has  satisfied  me  that 
God  doesn't  hate  him  nor  me.  There  must  be  some  mis- 
take about  that  Biblical  story  —  or  possibly  in  man's  in- 
terpretation of  it.  I  won't  believe  that  a  dignified  Eternal 
Creator  could  deliberately  place  one  of  His  creatures  in 
direct  opposition  to  His  children  and  Himself.  I  can 
remember  arguing  with  Aunty  about  it,  and  her  shocked 
face  comes  vividly  ,before  me.  It  was  my  unorthodoxy 
that  hurt  her ;  but  I  have  never  reasoned  it  out  until  now. 

The  more  I  see  of  Max  the  better  I  like  him.  Zadie,  he, 
and  I  celebrated  their  happiness  by  going  down  to  Eper- 


2C2  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

non.  The  "  petite  mere  "  didn't  know  we  were  coming ; 
for  we  had  resolved  to  give  her  a  surprise,  and  drove  to 
the  homestead  in  a  hired  conveyance.  Little  Gabrielle, 
playing  outside,  saw  us  first,  and  the  shout  she  sent  up 
brought  her  mother  quickly  from  the  house,  and  Balan- 
drot  from  the  cowshed.  Zadie  embraced  them  all  heartily, 
while  Max  stood  shyly  by.  Then  she  put  her  arms  round 
the  English  boy. 

"  Look  at  my  son ! "  she  said  simply  in  French,  and 
that  was  Maxey's  introduction  to  his  new  relatives. 

Gabrielle,  the  elder,  wiped  her  hands  on  her  apron  in 
blank  surprise. 

"  It's  an  English  milord !  "  she  murmured  abashed ;  but 
her  husband  was  the  first  to  recover,  and,  leaning  forward, 
kissed  Maxey  on  both  cheeks,  while  Zadie,  between  laugh- 
ing and  crying,  smacked  them  alternately,  including  me. 

Max,  red  in  the  face  and  a  little  embarrassed,  behaved 
beautifully,  English  though  he  was  to  the  backbone,  and, 
picking  up  Gabrielle,  the  younger,  who  was  endeavoring 
to  reach  up  to  him,  he  brought  her  small  mouth  on  a  level 
with  his,  with  a  boyish,  "  Hurry  up  and  grow  taller,  little 
cousin ! " 

"  Put  me  down,  put  me  down ! "  she  cried  shrilly,  as  if 
remembering  something,  and  as  he  released  her  she  ran 
into  the  house. 

"  Granny,  Granny !  Get  on  my  back,  get  on  my  back !  " 
we  heard  her  scream.  "  Aunt  Zadie  has  come  with  the 
pretty  milliner  and  an  English  cousin." 

Her  mother  and  I  followed  the  child  at  a  run,  and  en- 
tered just  as  little  Gabrielle  was  endeavoring  to  fit  the 
petite  mere's  two  withered  old  legs  about  her  waist,  and 
draw  the  thin  arms  over  her  shoulders. 

"  Gabrielle,  Gabrielle !  Why,  you'll  hurt  Granny ! 
There,  there,  Mother,  don't  cry !  You  can  come  out ;  but 
she  might  drop  you ! " 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  293 

The  old  dame  had  begun  to  snivel  in  disappointment; 
but  she  gurgled  with  joy  when  her  daughter  took  her  into 
her  muscular  arms,  and  carried  her  bodily  out  into  the 
sunshine.  Zadie  kissed  the  tear-wet,  wrinkled  cheeks  as 
they  put  the  tiny  creature  down  on  a  wooden  bench  in  the 
little  garden  among  the  swaying  hollyhocks. 

"  The  mother  mustn't  cry,"  she  soothed,  sitting  down 
beside  her.  "  See,  I've  brought  someone  to  visit  you ! " 

"  The  milliner  who  looks  like  me  when  I  was  young?  " 
croaked  the  aged  woman. 

"  Oui,  oui,  and  someone  else ! " 

Max  came  to  his  mother's  side  and  surveyed  his  grand- 
mother. I  wondered  if  he  thought  of  Lady  Donnithorne 
as  he  gazed  at  the  wizened,  little,  old  peasant,  with  her 
spotless  cap-strings  tied  under  her  chin. 

"  He  looks  like  a  nice  boy,"  said  the  old  woman  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Oui,  oui,  and  he's  my  boy  just  the  same  as  I'm  your 
girl." 

Two  near-sighted  eyes  took  in  Max  from  head  to  foot ; 
then  the  creased  lips  fell  back,  and  a  sweet  smile  lighted 
the  wan,  yellowed  face. 

"  Is  he  like  little  Gabrielle  to  me,  then  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  Oui,  oui,  out!  Like  little  Gabrielle.  Your  grandson, 
ma  mere."  Zadie's  voice  sank  to  a  tremulous  whisper. 

The  old  woman  gazed  at  him  with  the  wise,  puzzled  look 
of  a  young  child.  A  sudden  loneliness  seized  me  at  sight 
of  their  happiness.  Perhaps  Zadie  divined  it;  for  she 
rose  abruptly  and  dragged  me  down  to  her  knee  beside 
the  grand'mere. 

"  And  you  must  make  the  little  milliner  a  granddaugh- 
ter, too,"  she  said :  "  she's  my  other  baby." 

The  old  woman  repeated  "  A  granddaughter,  too  "  like  a 
parrot  saying  over  a  newly  taught  lesson.  Then  she 
fumbled  around  Zadie. 


294,  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  It's  the  sweets  she's  wanting,"  Gabrielle  explained,  and 
Zadie  said,  laughing  joyously: 

"  You  must  search  Maxey's  pockets  today,  ma  mere," 
and  jumped  up  to  give  her  seat  to  Max. 

My  eyes  became  misty  with  tears.  When  I  could  see 
clearly  again,  Granny's  face  was  close  to  Max's,  and  she 
was  asking  him  for  a  sweet. 

•  •••*••  » 

Every  day  I  grow  more  weary  than  the  day  before; 
so  that  now  I  can  walk  scarcely  farther  than  the  well. 
Once  in  awhile,  when  the  sun  shines,  I  go  with  Zadie  to  the 
double  tree  just  for  exercise. 

Zadie  isn't  up  yet.  I've  never  seen  a  woman  improve 
so  under  the  influence  of  new  conditions.  It's  almost  like 
seeing  a  plant  put  out  new  shoots  in  the  spring  under  a 
warm  May  sun.  Happiness  is  a  great  factor  in  human 
life.  She  has  stopped  swearing;  that  is  to  say,  when  she 
begins  a  round  oath,  she  bites  her  lips  and  ceases  immedi- 
ately. 

Before  Maxey  went  away,  he  tried  to  persuade  me  to 
leave  the  monastery  with  Zadie ;  but  I  am  resolved  to  stay 
here,  now  that  I  belong  to  Bruce.  Max  writes  his  mother 
the  sweetest  letters,  which  puzzle  me  more  and  more.  Who 
would  think  that  he  was  the  same  arrogant,  unformed  boy 
I  led  through  the  soldiers  to  Boulevard  St.  Michel? 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

I  HAVEN'T  seen  Bruce  since  we  were  married.  I 
often  wonder  where  he  is,  and  if  he  thinks  of  me 
every  day.  I  know  in  my  heart  that  he  does,  or 
he  wouldn't  have  saved  me.  We  agreed  that  no  one  should 
know  that  we  were  married  —  not  just  yet.  I  can't  bring 
myself  to  analyze  my  feelings  toward  him.  I  know  this 
much,  though,  and  I  dwell  upon  it  hour  after  hour :  that 
he  is  the  best  of  all  the  world  —  the  very  best.  And  it 
pleases  me  to  think  that  I  am  his  forever,  and  that  he  is 
mine.  He  told  me  that,  and  I  believe  him. 

Mere  Durand  came  in  this  morning  in  wide-eyed  con- 
sternation. She  told  Zadie  in  rattling  patois  that  over 
the  northern  edge  of  the  forest,  about  half  a  mile  from 
us,  a  man  lived  in  another  monastery. 

"  It's  been  closed  for  years,"  she  explained.  "  Why 
gentlemen  and  ladies  leave  Paris  and  come  out  here,  is 
more  than  I  can  tell ! "  She  looked  at  me,  and  went  on, 
"  Of  course,  I  understand  about  Madame ;  but  —  oh,  the 
sadness  of  a  monastery!  I  should  leave  tomorrow,  if  I 
could!" 

Zadie  and  I  also  wonder  who  could  be  so  sorry  about 
life  that  he  would  hide  away  from  the  world.  I  thought 
only  women  had  to  do  that ! 


Yesterday  I  think  I  saw  the  man  who  inhabits  the  other 
monastery.  He  was  too  far  away  to  trace  his  features, 
and  disappeared  behind  one  of  the  gorges  before  I  could 

295 


£96  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINTS 

see  but  that  he  was  tall  and  wore  a  gray  suit.     He  isn't  a 
monk,  then. 

•  ••**••• 

I  don't  know  just  how  to  write  down. these  next  few 
pages ;  but,  harking  back  to  other  times  and  reading  a  bit 
now  and  then  of  the  boulevard  days,  I  have  forced  myself 
to  begin. 

Zadie  and  Fra^ois  were  out  together.  I  sat  sewing, 
so  absorbed  in  my  thoughts  that  I  did  not  hear  a  footstep 
upon  the  monastery  path.  But  suddenly  a  feeling  that 
someone  was  watching  me  dragged  my  gaze  upward,  and 
I  saw  a  man  standing  near  the  cross  by  the  open  door. 
For  a  moment  I  was  too  surprised  to  speak.  Then  Cas- 
perone  Larodi's  repulsive  face  came  out  of  the  haze  in  my 
brain. 

"  Oh ! "  I  cried,  starting  up.  "  How  did  you  come 
here?  " 

"  I  should  have  come  before,"  he  said,  with  a  little  hes- 
itancy, "  but  my  mother  was  ill.  You  received  my  let- 
ter?" 

I  inclined  my  head  slightly,  and  looked  helplessly  into 
the  sunshine,  wishing  first  for  Bruce,  then  for  Zadie. 
Even  little  Fra^ois  would  have  been  welcome ;  but  I  heard 
him  shouting  gleefully  by  the  spring. 

"  My  life  has  been  topsyturvy  since  I  first  saw  you," 
Casperone  burst  out,  losing  his  calm.  "  I  can't  seem  to 
make  anything  out  of  it." 

I  didn't  expect  this,  and  remained  silent. 

"  But  now,"  he  went  on,  "  but  now  you  must  give  me 
some  hope.  I  care  nothing  about  your  life  with  Ever- 
ard,  nothing  for  his  — " 

"  Hush !  "  I  protested.  "  How  dare  you  ?  How  dare 
you?" 

"  I  dare  anything  to  make  you  mine ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  You  were  mine  before  you  saw  him,  and  I  will  have 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  297 

you ! "     His  voice   was   full  of  passionate   entreaty,  his 
eyes  flashing  from  under  straight,  black  brows. 

"  How  did  you  find  me?  "  I  managed  to  say  to  gain 
time. 

"  Lady  Jane  told  me,  and  —  then  —  I  saw  Everard." 

Lady  Jane,  Casperone,  and  Roger  Everard!  All  in 
league  against  me  and  my  baby,  plotting  to  ruin  what 
little  happiness  I  might  get  from  the  result  of  my  mis- 
fortune !  All  the  in j  ustice  of  the  tragedy  hanging  over 
me  filled  me  with  rage.  I  turned  to  Casperone. 

"  Both  you  and  that  man  are  wicked  —  very,  very 
wicked.  He  is  worse  than  you ;  for  he  does  pretend  to  be 
decent." 

"  I  could  have  been  good,  too,"  replied  Casperone,  "  if 
you  had  given  me  a  chance.  I  believe  you  still  love  him. 
But  you  can  rest  assured  that  he  hates  you  most  cordially. 
The  only  thing  he  insists  upon  —  is  —  his  — " 

"  Shame !  "  I  wept.     "  Please,  please ! " 

I  sank  down  upon  the  cot,  and  Casperone  came  toward 
me. 

"  Phyllis,  I  love  you,  I  love  you !  You  can't  still  care 
for  a  man  who  has  humiliated  you  before  the  whole  world. 
Come  to  me ! "  he  whispered  in  low,  passionate  tones. 
"  Come  to  me !  " 

"  You  have  humiliated  me  more  than  anyone  else,"  I 
cried.  "  I  will  have  you  go  —  you  can't  stay  another 
minute ! "  I  glanced  about  quickly  to  the  window,  and 
then  out  of  the  door.  "  I'll  scream  so  loud,"  I  finished, 
"  that  the  very  stones  will  come  to  me,  if  you  don't  go, 
and  go  now !  " 

Casperone  stared  at  me,  his  repression  changed  to  fury. 
A  horrible  oath  burst  from  his  lips.  "  I'll  not  go,"  he 
muttered,  "  not  until  you  have  made  me  a  promise !  I'm 
going  to  take  you  in  my  arms,  in  spite  of  all  the  devils  in 
hell." 


298  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

v 

His  eyes  blazed  black  menace,  and  for  one  moment  he 
crowded  me  close  in  his  awful  embrace.  I  had  but  one 
thought,  one  friend.  I  opened  my  lips  and  screamed : 

"Bruce!     Bruce!     Oh  — God!" 

And  then  my  almost  blinded  eyes  saw  Bruce  Stewart 
loom  in  the  doorway.  Much  quicker  than  it  takes  for  me 
to  write  it  Casperone  was  dragged  from  me,  and  limply  I 
watched  Bruce  change  into  a  passionate,  destroying  brute. 

It  was  a  primal  struggle  of  two  men  over  one  woman. 
Even  now  I  can  feel  my  heart  clutch  with  the  horror  of 
it.  Bruce  snatched  the  lithe  cane  that  the  Count  had 
dropped  on  the  floor,  and  for  what  seemed  many  minutes 
the  blows  from  the  stick  came  down  in  rapid  succession 
upon  the  Frenchman  as  Casperone's  small,  white  hands 
beat  the  air  with  frantic  appeal.  Suddenly  the  cane  split 
in  two  with  a  crack  like  a  pistol-shot,  the  smaller  piece 
flying  through  the  window.  The  other  fell  from  Bruce's 
fingers,  and  Larodi  took  advantage  of  it.  He  flew  at 
Bruce  with  the  agility  of  a  cat,  his  eyes  glinting  black  in 
his  death-white  face.  Bruce  caught  him  in  one  of  his 
huge  hands,  and  in  a  silent,  awful,  grim  grip  the  two 
men  swayed  past  the  stone  crucifix  almost  through  the 
open  door.  Casperone  thrust  his  slender  hand  upward  to 
Bruce's  throat,  and  he  bared  his  teeth  in  a  doglike  growl. 
It  was  then  that  the  most  terrible  part  of  the  fight  began. 
Of  a  sudden  they  came  to  a  standstill  for  an  infinitesimal 
part  of  a  minute,  Casperone's  fingers  dragging  away  at 
Bruce's  collar. 

I  remember  crying  out  in  agony  for  them  to  cease ;  and 
I  think  it  only  incensed  Bruce  the  more,  for  he  lifted  La- 
rodi completely  from  the  floor,  squeezing  his  slender  body 
until  the  man  screamed  at  the  cracking  of  his  bones. 
Bruce  raised  his  fist,  and  with  my  trembling  hands  pressed 
tightly  to  my  cheeks  I  counted  one  —  two  —  three  swift 
blows  as  they  fell  upon  Casperone's  upturned  face.  His 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  299 

yells  broke  out  upon  the  stillness  of  the  forest,  echoing 
and  reechoing  among  the  mountain  gorges,  and  brought 
Zadie  running  from  the  spring.  Standing  in  the  door, 
her  frightened  eyes  took  in  the  import  of  the  scene,  and 
she  screamed  in  English : 

"  Keel  the  pig,  keel  him,  Monsieur  Bruce !  " 

So  thoroughly  was  Casperone  done  for  that,  when 
Bruce  knocked  him  down  and  then  ordered  him  to  get  up, 
he  didn't  make  a  move.  My  husband  literally  lifted  the 
limp,  pasty-faced  fellow  from  the  stone  floor  and  threw 
him  out  of  the  monastery. 

When  I  saw  this,  I  began  to  scream  loudly,  as  if  some 
great,  threatening  danger  had  passed  over.  I  tried  to  get 
to  my  feet ;  but  in  an  instant  Bruce  was  at  my  side.  He 
knelt  down,  the  anger  dead  in  his  face,  his  dear  eyes  filled 
with  tears. 

"  That  you  should  suffer  this,  Dearest,  and  at  just  the 
minute  my  back  was  turned !  "  he  moaned.  "  Oh,  the  days 
Pve  watched  over  you,  only  to  see  you  abused,  after 
all!" 

I  wept  on  and  on  a»  he  smoothed  my  face,  bathing  it 
with  the  water  Zadie  brought.  When  I  could  speak,  I 
begged  him  to  see  that  he  hadn't  killed  Larodi. 

"  Oh,  it  was  awful,  awful ! "  I  shuddered.  "  I've  never 
seen  anything  so  frightful!" 

"  He  deserved  that  and  much  more,  the  cur ! "  replied 
Bruce  darkly,  and  he  went  out.  Presently  he  came  back 
to  say  that  Durand  had  picked  up  the  Count  from  the 
walk  and  that  Casperone  was  weeping  in  the  little  shop. 

"  He's  hurt  no  more  than  he  can  stand,  damn  him ! " 
muttered  Bruce.  "The  miserable,  dastardly  coward!" 

I  love  all  of  Bruce's  oaths,  every  one !  They  are  as  much 
a  part  of  him  as  his  brilliant  eyes  and  his  broad  shoulders. 
For  a  time  I  lay  back  and  closed  my  eyes.  Bruce  turned 
and  spoke  to  Zadie. 


300  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  This  is  the  first  day  I've  left  her  since  she  became  my 
wife,"  said  he,  "  and  I  only  went  into  the  village  for  a  few 
minutes ! " 

I  opened  my  eyes  in  startled  amazement.  "  Where 
have  you  been,  then?  "  I  whispered. 

"  Always  near  you,  Beloved,"  he  murmured.  "  I've 
spent  the  day  but  a  short  distance  away  among  the  gorges, 
and  the  nights  just  at  the  edge  of  the  forest." 

"  He  is  the  man  whom  Mere  Durand  spoke  of  as  being 
in  the  other  monas.ter'y,"  I  said,  turning  to  Zadie.  "  Were 
you,  Bruce?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Phyllis.  It  was  the  only  way  I  could  pro- 
tect you;  for  I  feared  even  worse  than  has  happened  to- 
day." 

I  sank  down  again  and  covered  my  face.  He  had 
feared  Roger!  Suddenly  over  me  came  a  dreadful  fear, 
a  premonition  that  I  couldn't  explain.  I  struggled  to 
my  feet. 

"  Bruce !  Bruce !  "  I  cried.  "  Take  me  away  —  oh,  take 
me  away!  Oh,  to  be  anywhere  but  here!  I  want  to  go 
with  you  and  Zadie !  " 

"  Thank  God ! "  exclaimed  Bruce,  and  straightway  Za- 
die made  ready  to  leave. 

In  the  hurry  of  the  moment  I  had  forgotten  my 
wounded  protege;  but  when  he  did  come  in  my  remem- 
brance I  went  to  the  cot  and  lifted  the  white  drapery  from 
under  which  he  crawled  each  day  for  his  rations.  Napo- 
leon was  coiled  up  in  the  wooden  box  —  dead ! 

I  have  lost  a  friend,  one  that  gave  me  proof  of  universal 
love  for  all  God's  creation!  Napoleon's  companionship 
has  caused  me  to  lose  my  egotism  in  being  human,  and  I 
have  held  out  my  hands  in  loving  fellowship  to  every  liv- 
ing thing. 

Bruce  buried  him  for  me. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  301 

Although  I  haven't  been  able  to  meditate  much,  still  I 
vaguely  recall  how  Bruce  and  Zadie  took  me  out  of  the 
monastery  to  the  village.  It's  all  like  a  dream,  one  hid- 
eous dream  of  bodily  pain  and  heartsickness. 

I  can't  tell  how  long  it  was  afterward  when  I  opened 
my  eyes  and  looked  about.  Through  the  dim  light  I  saw 
Father  Beulais,  his  solemn  eyes  directed  away  from  me 
to  someone  else.  As  the  things  in  the  room  became  more 
tangible,  little  by  little,  I  was  aware  of  the  fact  that  Bruce 
was  standing  near  him,  too. 

Gradually,  as  my  sight  returned,  I  clearly  traced  the 
outline  of  a  babe,  white  and  thin,  stretched  out  on  his 
hands.  I  moved  my  head  slowly  on  the  pillow.  My 
hearing  must  have  been  cleared;  for  Bruce's  deep  voice 
broke  in  upon  me. 

"  Father  Beulais,  I  would  give  all  my  life  and  my 
soul's  salvation  if  I  were  his  father !  My  God !  how  can  I 
bear  this  ?  " 

The  words  stole  through  my  senses  as  the  faint  song 
of  a  morning  bird  comes  to  one  in  the  last  dreams  before 
full  dawn.  Then  again  I  strained  my  ears  to  listen. 
Father  Beulais  said  in  French: 

"  My  friend,  you  have  much  to  be  thankful  for.  You 
have  the  woman.  She  will  live  to  bless  your  days,  all  your 
years.  The  child  is  weak,  and  may  thank  only  you  for 
his  —  name." 

This  startled  a  noise  from  my  lips.  Bruce  passed  my 
baby  to  Father  Beulais,  and  sat  down  beside  me.  I  had 
strength  enough  to  lift  my  hand  and  pass  it  over  his  face. 
It  was  feverish,  and  his  square  jaws  were  lined  in  sorrow. 
Shivering,  I  huddled  under  the  covers,  and  whimpered  and 
cried  until  Bruce  lifted  me  and  ran  his  arm  round  my 
shoulder. 

Even  as  I  sit  here  and  endeavor  to  think  of  something 
more  that  happened  that  night,  I  can't.  The  first  clear 


302  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

episode  in  my  mind  is  that  one  morning  I  woke  up  to  see 
Zadie  sitting  in  a  rocking-chair  with  my  baby  in  her  lap, 
and  Bruce  bending  over  me. 

Like  a  flash  the  past  came  over  me, —  his  goodness,  his 
magnificent  generosity,  and,  added  to  this,  he  loved  me 
with  that  sacred,  unselfish  love  with  which  some  men  do 
love  their  wives. 

•  .  •  »  •  •  *  • 

Oh,  my  baby,  my  precious  little  baby!  He'a  so  beau- 
tiful, so  tall,  so  very,  very  white!  And  sometimes,  as  I 
look  into  his  eyes,  I  can  read  from  his  soul  a  pity  for  all 
I  have  borne  since  I  first  knew  him.  A  boy,  a  little  son, 
my  own  child !  And  I'm  his  mother,  his  own  mother !  I've 
never  loved  anybody  half  so  well.  But  I'm  going  to  write 
a  little  about  Bruce. 

One  day,  when  my  baby  was  about  five  weeks  old,  he 
came  back  to  me  in  all  friendliness.  I  noticed  that  he 
didn't  kiss  me  as  he  had  so  many  times  before. 

"  Phyllis,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I'm  going  away  for  a  time. 
You  are  safe  now  from  any  enemy  you  may  have  had. 
Larodi's  lesson  will  teach  the  rest." 

I  felt  a  stab  at  my  heart.     "  To  America?  "  I  faltered. 

"  Oh,  no:  just  for  a  little  trip  to  buck  up  a  bit,  you  see 
—  to  pull  myself  together."  He  sent  me  that  brilliant 
smile  that  had  always  awed  me,  and  went  on,  "  I  wanted 
to  ask  you  if,  when  I  come  back  — " 

Intuitively  I  knew  what  he  was  going  to  say,  and  cried, 
"  Bruce  dear,  don't  say  it !  " 

The  light  fled  from  his  eyes,  and  a  tide  of  eolor  swept 
from  his  throat  to  his  brow.  "  I  love  you,  Child !  "  he  mur- 
mured brokenly. 

"  And  I  hold  your  dear,  unselfish  love  as  the  most  sacred 
thing  in  my  life,"  I  said,  low  toned  and  tender ;  "  but, 
Bruce,  you  can  understand,  can't  you,  that  the  baby  — 

"  Yes,    yes,    I    understand ! "     He   paused    an    instant. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  303 

"  It's  hard ! "  he  got  out  at  last  in  a  changed  voice. 
"  God!  but  it  is  hard!" 

Until  now  Love  at  its  purest  and  best  had  been  an  in- 
tangible, fleeting,  substanceless  thing.  At  this  moment  a 
wonderful  thrill  swept  my  being,  and  then  I  knew  that  I 
had  fallen  in  love  with  my  husband,— a  real  love  sancti- 
fied by  suffering  on  my  part  and  sacrifice  on  his.  I  got 
up  and  placed  my  baby  in  his  bed,  and  slowly  walked  to 
Bruce. 

"  Dearest,"  I  murmured  feebly,  "  please  look  at  me !  " 

He  swung  round  sharply,  and  I  suppose  the  expression 
upon  my  face  drew  him  to  me. 

"  Bruce,"  I  said,  flushing  in  hesitation,  "  when  you  re- 
turn to  Paris,  I  want  you  to  come  to  the  baby  and  mel 
Then,  then  —  but  I  can't  tell  you  about  it  now,  Dear !  " 

With  a  mad  cry,  he  snatched  me  close,  smothering  my; 
eyes,  my  lips  and  throat,  with  hot,  passionate  kisses.  He 
suddenly  released  me,  and  when  I  got  back  my  breath  he 
had  gone. 

•       :•  •  •  •  «,  •  • 

As  I  write  I  am  holding  my  baby,  and  oftentimes  I  stop 
my  pen  and  look  down  at  his  little  face  in  solemn  wonder. 
Just  now  he  is  gazing  steadily  upon  the  light,  his  clear, 
blue  eyes  holding  a  strange  expression  that  has  been  in 
them  since  his  birth.  I'm  anxious  over  him  at  times.  I 

Only  today  I  arranged  in  my  mind  how  I  feel  toward 
him.  Of  course  he  looks  like  —  just  now  I  can't  write 
that  name ;  but  another  time,  if  I'm  less  bitter,  I'll  fill  it  in. 
I  haven't  even  given  baby  a  name  yet:  for  that  he  must 
wait.  I  can  remember  in  those  first  few  weeks,  after  I 
knew  that  God  was  goirg  to  give  me  a  somebody  all  my 
own,  I  longed  with  all  my  soul  for  him  to  resemble  his 
father.  Then,  afterward  when  things  had  proved  so  un- 
real and  unnatural,  I  thought  that,  if  it  should  be  so,  I 
couldn't  find  love  enough  in  my  heart  for  him.  But  how 


304  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

changed  I  am!  Love  my  baby?  My  little  angel  boy  — 
oh,  Childy,  how  I  adore  you!  I  live  for  you,  and  only 
you,  and  yet  —  I  have  detached  you  absolutely  from  him 
who  is  but  the  other  part  of  you.  In  his  bigoted  soul  he 
gave  up  his  right  —  I  mean  moral  right  —  even  to  look 
upon  your  baby  face,  and  if  I  can  prevent  it  he  never 
shall! 

The  most  indistinct  part  of  those  monastery  days  is 
my  marriage  to  Bruce  —  big,  wholesome  Bruce.  I  re- 
gret it  only  for  his  sake:  he  is  tied  for  life  to  a  woman 
who  is  held  by  the  bond  of  motherhood  tighter  than  the 
ties  of  earth  to  Heaven.  Sweet  baby  child!  A  boy  of 
my  very  own,  much  more  my  own  than  if  Roger  could 
claim  him,  too !  I  think,  when  a  woman  becomes  a  mother 
of  a  son,  then  she's  just  as  big  as  a  woman  ever  can  be,  in 
spite  —  yes,  I  say  in  spite  of  what  her  life  has  been !  Even 
the  love  of  my  good  man  cannot  drag  my  soul  near  every- 
thing good  as  this  one,  small  nameless  boy  stretched  out 
in  his  baby  helplessness  on  my  knees.  Once  for  all,  I've 
decided  that  I  love  him  better  than  any  being  in  the  wide 
world,  and,  when  I  liken  this  mad  love  for  him  with  all 
the  others  I've  known,  they  seem  in  comparison  like  pyg- 
mies to  giants.  I've  even  analyzed  the  love.  It's  a 
mixture  of  Heaven  and  earth,  of  God  and  man,  of  passion 
—  mother-passion,  which  comes  only  to  a  mother. 

I'm  wondering,  too,  as  I  write  of  Bruce,  and  I  sigh  and 
wish  and  hope  —  what  am  I  hoping  for  ?  Nothing  ab- 
solutely, nothing  save  that  my  baby  may  grow  to  be  a 
man,  loving  me  even  when  he  knows  of  me  and  what  I 
have  done.  At  this  moment  he's  sleeping.  He  must  have 
closed  his  eyes  when  I  was  interested  in  writing  this.  His 
long,  dark  lashes  cast  shadows  on  his  face,  and  my  last 
words  tonight  before  I  gather  him  to  my  arms  to  sleep 
shall  be,  May  God,  Heaven,  and  all  His  holy  armies  of 
angels  bless  and  keep  my  boy  —  my  little,  living  son ! 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

I  HAVEN'T  thought  of  one  thing  lately  but  my  sick 
baby.  He  doesn't  seem  to  get  any  better.  So  many 
more  things  have  happened  to  me  —  I  mean  real 
things  —  than  have  ever  happened  before !  Bruce  had 
been  gone,  if  I  remember  rightly,  about  two  weeks,  when 
one  morning  Zadie  came  to  me,  saying  that  a  man  was 
awaiting  me  in  the  drawing-room.  Strangers  were  not 
welcome  at  any  time,  and  I  sent  back  a  message  that  at 
that  moment  I  should  have  to  be  excused.  I  heard  Zadie 
give  the  word,  but  could  not  catch  the  man's  answer;  but 
I  knew  he  was  persistent,  because  Zadie  argued  in  a  loud 
voice  as  to  my  inability  to  see  him,  and  she  plodded  back. 

"  He  says  he  must  see  you  one  minute,"  said  she.  "  It 
is  important,  very,  very  !  About  your  money  !  " 

I  got  up  hastily  and  went  into  the  drawing-room.  A 
heavy-set  man  in  uniform,  standing  by  the  table,  made 
a  low  obeisance  to  me.  I  stood  still,  slightly  inclining  my 
head. 

He  glanced  at  a  paper  he  held  open  between  his  fingers. 
"  You  are  Miss  Fitzpatrick  ?  "  he  demanded  in  French. 

"  Yes  —  and  your  business  ?  " 

"  Madame,  I  am  this  day,  by  order  of  the  court,  serving 
this  paper  upon  you  !  " 

Even  then  I  didn't  suspect  the  nature  of  his  business. 
He  had  told  Zadie  it  was  about  my  money.  I  extended 
my  hand  and  mechanically  took  what  he  offered. 

The  man  turned  toward  the  door.  "  Madame  may  read 
it  at  her  leisure,"  said  he. 

305 


306  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

I  didn't  even  glance  at  it  until  I  was  back  at  Zadie's 
side. 

Then  I  read  the  paper  once,  twice,  and  three  times  be- 
fore opening  my  lips.  Roger  had  served  a  court  order 
upon  me  to  surrender  to  him  my  baby  son!  Not  remem- 
bering that  Zadie  didn't  know  the  contents  of  the  service, 
I  burst  out: 

"  Zadie  darling,  they  couldn't,  could  they  ?  Oh,  tell  me 
they  couldn't ! " 

"Vhat?  Vhat  ees  eet?  "  she  exclaimed,  taking  up  the 
paper  that  had  fallen  to  the  floor.  In  a  maze  of  despair 
I  heard  her  lisping  out  the  words.  Her  face  was  pale, 
when  she  turned  to  me.  "  You  need  Monsieur  Bruce,"  was 
all  she  said. 

"Yes,  yes!"  I  cried.  "But  where  is  he?  Tell  me 
something  to  do!  Could  Father  Beulais  help  me?  Don't 
you  think  he  could?  " 

"  I  go  for  the  priest,"  said  Zadie,  rising  suddenly. 

I  noticed  before  she  went  out  that  she  bent  and  kissed 
my  baby,  and  I  heard  the  clatter  of  rosary  beads  as  she 
leaned  over  him.  Zadie  loved  him  with  all  her  big  French 
soul. 

I  shall  never  know  how  long  she  was  gone ;  but  her  face 
was  still  more  drawn  with  anxiety  when  she  came  home  to 
tell  me  that  Father  Beulais  would  not  be  in  Paris  for  some 
weeks.  And  my  baby  is  too  ill  to  be  taken  away  from  the 
city,  even  if  I  were  allowed  to  go ! 

.      ,     .  »  .  .  . 

To  write  all  the  details  of  consulting  lawyers,  and  the 
minutes  of  uncertainty  I  went  through,  would  gall  me  too 
much.  There  seemed  not  the  slightest  hope  for  me  to 
keep  my  little  boy  from  the  man  who  had  refused  him  his 
name.  And  Bruce  has  gone,  too,  I  know  not  where.  The 
lawyers  have  all  said  that  the  law  gives  a  father  the  right 
to  his  child,  marriage  or  no  marriage.  Yet,  for  money, 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  307 

I  obtained  the  services  of  one  not  much  interested  in  the 
baby  or  me.  He  smiled  disdainfully  as  he  folded  the  check 
I  gave  him.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  when  the  day 
comes  summoning  me  to  the  court  I'll  throw  myself  upon 
the  mercy  of  the  judge;  that  I'll  tell  him  all  my  story,  all 
of  Roger's  perfidy,  of  my  love  for  my  baby  —  Oh,  they 
can't  take  him  away !  —  for  how  shall  I  live  ?  As  I  watch 
him  from  where  I  sit,  I  have  the  feeh'ng  that  he  has  always 
been  mine,  that  there  could  never  have  been  an  hour  when 
he  was  not  with  me,  and  no  future  day  can  I  survive 
without  him.  I've  done  everything  to  find  Bruce,  the  only 
man  in  all  the  world  to  whom  I  can  appeal.  If  I  could 
go  back  to  that  day,  that  last  day,  when  he  left  me  with 
love  on  his  lips,  how  I  should  hold  him!  Nothing  could 
take  him  from  me,  and  in  my  misery  I  am  honest  enough 
with  myself  to  admit  that  I  want  him  for  my  own  sake  as 
much  as  my  boy  needs  him ! 

Zadie  came  to  me  this  morning  with  the  baby  in  her 
arms. 

"  I  deed  this,"  she  said,  shoving  the  morning  journal 
into  my  hand.  I  glanced  at  the  marked  passage  in  Le 
Matin  and  read: 

If  Monsieur  Bruce  Stewart,  American,  late  of  Paris,  sees 
this,  come  to  Phyllis. 

I  lifted  my  eyes  and  searched  the  dear,  raddled  face. 
She  had  thought  of  something  that  might  save  me  and 
mine! 

"  I  had  not  dreamed  of  doing  that,"  I  said  slowly,  and 
when  the  thought  flashed  over  me  that  Bruce  might  see  it 
I  sprang  up  and  thrust  my  arms  round  my  friend. 
"Zadie,  Zadie!  God  bless  you,  Dear!  Oh,  go  pray, 


308  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

please !  Pray  that  he  will  come  to  me !  I  feel  very  sure  I 
shall  die ! " 

She  was  gone  nearly  an  hour,  and  when  she  came  back 
her  eyes  were  swollen  and  red. 

"  I  say  a  hundred  Hail  Marys  and  Holy  Marys  for 
Monsieur  Bruce.  He  come,  you  see  —  you  beleef  he 
comes,  Pheelis  ?  " 

Her  voice  twisted  with  pain  and  suffering.  I  stood  up 
and  kissed  her. 

"  I  believe,  I  believe,  Zadie !  "  I  moaned.  "  He'll  come ! 
My  husband  will  come !  " 

"  Then,  if  you  beleef,  he  comes  —  see  ?  God  has  said 
eet,  and  Zadie  know  he  comes  when  Pheelis  beleef." 

And  I  do  believe  that  he  will  read  my  need  of  him! 
What  a  mite  of  a  soul  I  am  to  have  my  son,  and  my  hus- 
band !  Two  of  Heaven's  choicest  possessions ! 

It  is  all  over,  and  Bruce  is  not  here! 

Day  after  day  seemed  to  fly.  Every  morning  I  wanted 
the  day  hours  to  lag,  that  I  might  hear  something  to  keep 
the  breath  of  life  in  me  for  the  trial  I  had  to  bear.  And 
every  night  hour  I  held  my  baby  to  my  heart.  I  prayed 
until  sleep  took  my  thoughts  away,  that  he  might  be  left 
with  me;  for  I  needed  him  so! 

Zadie  says  that  men  have  guarded  our  house  every  day 
since  the  paper  was  served.  I  suppose  they  thought  I 
would  take  my  baby  and  run  away.  I  certainly  would 
have  tried  to,  if  he  had  been  well  enough  to  travel.  Little 
boy  lamb,  suffering  from  blows  he  received  before  he  was 
born !  He  hasn't  had  half  a  chance,  even  to  live ! 

I  had  been  notified  that  the  proceedings  would  be  pri- 
vate,—  only  those  interested  allowed  in  the  court. 

At  last  the  morning  came,  and  two  men  arrived  to  take 
us  into  the  city.  Never  shall  I  forget  how  I  felt  when  I 
took  my  son  in  my  arms  to  follow  them  out. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  309 

When  Zadie  refused  to  go  with  me,  I  turned  upon  her 
sharply.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"Little  Pheelis,"  she  whispered,  "I  steel  beleef.  I 
stay  and  vait  —  for  Monsieur  Bruce." 

"  It  is  too  late,"  I  replied  sadly.  "  But  stay  and  pray, 
Zadie,  if  you  can." 

I  went  out,  frozen  to  my  bones.  How  solemn  was  the 
courtroom  as  I  walked  in  and  took  a  chair  indicated  by 
my  lawyer!  The  direct  proceedings  have  left  my  mind 
—  I  mean  the  technicalities  of  them.  But  I  remember 
that  several  men  with  long  robes  sat  high  above  the  gaping 
crowd  of  eager  faces.  I  glanced  back  once,  and  saw 
Roger,  his  hand  shading  his  face.  I  was  nearer  hating  him 
then  than  ever  before.  The  faith  that  Zadie  had  instilled 
in  me  was  dead,  and  I  was  alone  among  the  dark  French- 
men who  would  sign  and  seal  my  death-warrant.  The  first 
thing  I  heard  was  a  drooning  voice  speaking  Roger's  name 
and  mine ;  following  this,  the  reading  of  a  clause  of  the 
law  that,  if  carried  out,  would  surely  kill  me.  I  had  rather 
see  my  baby  dead  before  me,  than  have  him  taken  into  the 
life  of  a  man  like  his  father ! 

It's  all  so  hazy  now  as  I  write,  that  I  have  only  the  mem- 
ory of  Roger  passing  down  the  aisle  after  a  man  had 
called  his  name.  But  every  word  he  uttered  is  seared  into 
my  mind  as  if  it  were  burning  me. 

I  raised  my  eyes  to  his  face  as  he  took  the  chair,  and 
his  gaze  was  centered  upon  me.  I  looked  steadfastly 
back  at  him.  He  turned  his  head  to  answer  the  first  ques- 
tion. 

"Your  name?" 

"  Roger  Everard." 

"  You  are  married?  " 

"  No." 

"You  are  the  father  of  a  child?" 

"  Yes,  a  son." 


310  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Is  that  child  here  in  this  courtroom?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  the  mother's  name?" 

"Phyllis  Fitzpatrick." 

"  Is  she  present?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  your  desire  for  the  boy  is  —  what?  " 

"  To  take  it  for  its  own  good.  To  separate  it  from  a 
mother  I  have  proved  unworthy  to  have  charge  of  an  in- 
nocent babe." 

He  spoke  with  such  decision  in  low,  even  French,  that  I 
shivered.  He  turned  his  eyes  to  the  judge,  whose  glance 
fell  upon  me,  as  he  questioned. 

"  Monsieur,  you  —  you  could  not  be  persuaded  to  marry 
this  woman?  She's  but  a  girl  herself,  this  mother  of  your 
child." 

In  a  flashing  glance  at  the  judge's  face,  I  read  deep 
sympathy  and  interest,  mingled  with  fatherly  benevolence. 
Tearfully  I  lowered  my  head.  My  mind  turned  to  Bruce 
with  desperate  longing,  hearing  but  dimly  Roger's  force- 
ful word,  "No!" 

"  Then  let  the  mother  speak,"  said  the  judge  slowly. 

As  Roger  rose,  a  man  touched  me  on  the  shoulder.  I 
went  up  with  my  baby,  and  sank  into  the  same  chair.  The 
usual  questions  asked  of  me  as  to  name,  age,  and  other 
things,  I  answered  dazedly.  It  all  seemed  too  much  like 
an  unhappy  dream  to  be  able  to  grasp  its  fatal  reality. 
A  man  came  forward  after  a  whispered  conversation  with 
Roger,  and  spoke  in  an  undertone  to  the  magistrate.  The 
judge  nodded  his  head,  cleared  his  throat,  and  turned  to 
me. 

"  Is  Monsieur  Everard  the  father  of  this  child?  " 

Aroused  and  full  of  terror,  I  shot  an  angry  glance  at 
Roger.  His  handsome  face  whitened,  and  his  lips  set  in  a 
straight  line.  If  I  answered  in  the  affirmative,  my  little 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  313 

son  would  be  torn  from  me,  and  to  deny  —  that  I   , i    ,  -., 

couldn't 
I  waited  so  long  that  the  ludge  leaned  forward  a 

^^  'f*1*A      C1 1  Y"fl™ 

the  question  again.     Still,  I  could  not  force  myself  , 

sent.     Then  something  happened  that  made  the  few  i 
,.  ,  .  ,.  door- 

listeners  turn  in  expectation. 

At  the  interruption   the  judge  rose  to  his   feet;   ,t 
reseated  himself,  looking  toward  the  door.     I  lifted  n,  . 
eyes,  and  saw  Zadie  sink  into  a  chair,  and  —  and  Bruc( 
Stewart  was  walking  down  the  long  aisle  toward  me!     Hii 
dear  face  was  ashen  to  his  ears.     The  golden-brown  eyes  •* 
sent  me   a   flashing   glance   of   protection.     I   stood   up 
quickly;  but  the  man  at  my  back  touched  me  authorita- 
tively and  said: 

"Be  seated,  Madame!  You  haven't  answered  his 
Honor's  question.  Is  Monsieur  Everard  the  father  of  this 
child?" 

Limply  I  sank  back,  making  no  effort  to  speak.  Then 
through  my  brain  came  Bruce's  strong,  reliant  voice: 

"  The  woman  is  my  wife,"  he  said,  waving  his  hand  to- 
ward me.  "  The  child  was  born  in  —  in  wedlock ! " 

Through  the  dead  silence  came  an  ejaculation  from 
Roger.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  came  toward  Bruce. 
For  fully  ten  seconds  they  stood  and  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes,  hate  in  Roger's  and  decision  in  Bruce's. 

"  He  lies ! "  cried  Roger.  "  I  demand  that  he  prove  his 
words ! " 

"  It's  easy,"  replied  Bruce  simply,  turning  squarely 
to  the  judge.  "  I  am  handing  your  Honor  a  certificate 
proving  that  Phyllis  Fitzpatrick  was  my  wife  long  before 
the  birth  of  this  child.  In  the  eyes  of  the  world  and  the 
law  I  claim  them  both  !  " 

The  magistrate  studied  the  paper  with  frowning  brow. 

Up  through  the  window  came  the  roar  of  the  city's 
traffic,  mingling  together  with  the  shouting  of  the  river 


312  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

sailors  and  the  voices  of  the  street-hawkers.  But  in  the 
room  there  wasn't  a  sound  until  my  marriage  certificate 
crumpled  in  the  judge's  fingers.  Then  he  turned  to  me. 

"  Is  this  man  jour  husband?  "  he  demanded. 

He  pointed  his  finger  at  Bruce. 

"  Yes  —  yes,  I  am  his  wife !  "  I  said  chokingly. 

His  Honor  bent  over  and  handed  the  paper  back  to 
Bruce.  "  There  has  been  a  grievous  mistake,  an  unheard 
of  blunder,"  he  commented  slowly.  "  I  cannot  fathom 
it.  Madame,  you  have  my  heartfelt  sympathy,  and  I  beg 
you  to  pardon  this  court  for  an  insult  such  as  has  never 
happened  before."  Facing  Roger,  he  said,  "  Monsieur 
Everard,  I  have  no  authority  to  give  you  another  man's 
son." 

I  drew  a  long,  sobbing  breath  and  cried,  "  I'm  so  glad, 
so  very  glad !  Bruce  dear,  take  our  —  our  baby  and  me 
with  you  —  take  us  both  home ! " 

I  can  remember  distinctly  that  one  of  the  court  men 
had  to  hold  Roger;  for  in  his  rage  he  lost  his  mind  for 
the  moment.  A  confused  sound  of  voices,  a  calm  order 
from  the  judge,  and  my  husband  placed  his  arm  round  me, 
drew  my  baby  to  his  breast  —  and  the  next  thing  I  knew 
Zadie  was  with  us  in  a  closed  cab. 

•  •*••••• 

My  baby  is  dead,  and  as  Zadie  is  visiting  Max  at  Oxford 
I  am  alone  in  this  flat.  Every  day  I  long  more  and  more 
for  the  little  boy  who  was  so  suddenly  taken  away  from 
me.  When  I  ponder  on  my  Paris  life,  I  wonder  that  I 
am  living  at  all;  but  I'm  enjoying  a  new-found  peace  — 
or  is  it  indifference?  No,  no,  it  is  not  that  —  not  indif- 
ference toward  my  husband! 

The  coming  of  Bruce  stayed  my  pen  last  week.  He 
asked  me  if  I  would  go  to  Mrs.  Everard.  She  desired  to 
see  me,  and  Roger  had  implored  that  I  come. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  313 

We  were  met  at  their  home  with  the  statement  that  Mrs. 
Everard  was  worse,  and  that  the  doctor  said  she  couldn't 
live  many  hours.  Bruce  and  I  waited  until  we  were  sum- 
moned to  the  sick-room.  The  nurse  whispered  in  expla- 
nation as  we  stood  in  the  hall  with  one  hand  on  the  door- 
knob. 

"  Mrs.  Everard  has  been  asking  for  you.  She  has  been 
blind  since  last  evening.  Her  son  has  not  been  able  to 
persuade  her  to  give  him  the  message.  She  has  been  very 
uneasy  about  it." 

"  And  you  don't  know  what  she  wants  to  tell  me  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  No,"  answered  the  nurse ;  "  but  Mr.  Everard  says  that 
you  are  to  come  quickly." 

I  followed  her,  with  Bruce  close  to  me,  tiptoeing  in, 
and  looked  over  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Roger  was  seated 
beside  his  mother.  I  shall  never  forget  his  face.  When 
I  came  in  he  raised  his  head,  but  for  only  one  brief  in- 
stant. 

The  nurse  whispered  to  the  sick  woman  that  I  was  there, 
and  with  a  faint  smile  Mrs.  Everard  opened  unseeing  eyes 
which  I  noticed  were  deeply  sunken.  She  looked  years 
older  than  when  I  had  last  seen  her.  She  tried  to  lift  one 
hand;  but  Roger  grasped  it  in  his. 

"  Don't,  Darling,  don't !     Phyllis  is  coming  nearer." 

"  I  am  here,  dear  heart,"  I  said  gently,  and  took  the  cold 
fingers  in  mine. 

"  You  have  been  gone  long,  Child,"  she  breathed.  "  We 
could  not  find  you." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  was  all  I  could  say. 

"  Roger  has  suffered  with  me,"  she  went  on  closing  her 
lids,  "  and  he  told  me  he  had  been  searching  everywhere 
for  you." 

I  looked  up  quickly,  and  caught  Roger's  agonized 
glance.  . 


314  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Tell  me,  dear  Mrs.  Everard,  what  you  want  to  say 
to  me.  You  have  been  wishing  to  see  me?  " 

"  Yes."  The  wasted  hand  raised  feebly  to  brush  away 
the  tears  welling  large  in  the  sightless  eyes.  My  head  was 
close  to  hers. 

"  I  am  here,"  said  I. 

"  Why  —  are  —  you  —  staying  —  away  —  from  — 
Roger?  " 

.  Each  word  was  punctured  with  a  sob.  I  didn't  answer ; 
but  bent  impulsively  to  kiss  her  hand.  It  was  stone  cold 
with  the  chill  of  death. 

"  I  haven't  told  her  why  you  and  I  are  not  together," 
Roger  muttered  to  me. 

"  How  shall  I  explain  my  absence?  "  I  whispered  back. 

Mrs.  Everard  opened  her  eyes  again,  questioningly. 
"  Roger,  send  the  nurse  from  the  room,"  she  said. 

The  attendant  disappeared  in  answer  to  Roger's  sign, 
and  we  three  waited  until  Mrs.  Everard  spoke.  With  an 
effort  she  rolled  her  head  on  the  pillow  in  her  son's  direc- 
tion. 

"  Roger,  I  haven't  told  you,  but  I  heard  you  say  that 
dreadful  thing  to  Bruce  Stewart  and  Maxey  the  night  you 
asked  Phyllis  to  marry  you." 

Roger  leaned  over  desperately,  and  exclaimed,  "  I  am 
sorry,  Beloved,  I  am  sorry !  " 

"  And  ; —  my  —  conscience  —  has  —  whipped  —  me  — 
to  my  death  —  since  —  then !  "  came  the  weak  voice  from 
the  pillow. 

"  Rest  now,  Dearest.  Don't  talk  any  more,"  Roger 
urged.  "  Phyllis  and  I  are  both  here." 

"  No,  I  haven't  finished.  ...  I  mean  what  you 
said  —  about  —  the  —  child  —  born  —  of  —  sin  — " 

Silence  fell  again.  I  could  see  it  was  a  deep  emotion 
that  had  kept  the  woman  from  speaking.  She  was  not 
struggling  with  death  alone. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY.  GRINS  315 

"  I  have  longed  to  die  during  the  last  few  months," 
Mrs.  Everard  continued  in  a  low  tone.  "  I  did  not 
wish—" 

Roger's  face  was  convulsed  with  deep  feeling,  his  voice 
sharp  with  entreaty.  "  Mother,  how  can  you  say  that  to 
me,  when  I've  worshiped  every  breath  you've  drawn  ?  " 

With  a  pathetic  gesture  she  stretched  out  her  hands. 
"  I  know  you  have  loved  me,  my  darling ;  but  you  wouldn't 
if  you  knew  the  whole  truth.  Phyllis,  are  you  there?  " 

The  blind  eyes  flashed  in  my  direction,  and  I  smoothed 
her  hair  back  reassuringly. 

"  Roger,  I  have  always  been  a  good  mother  to  you, 
haven't  I?" 

Tears  stood  in  Roger's  eyes,  and  he  smothered  the  cold 
hand  that  he  held  with  kisses.  His  lips  refused  to  frame 
words;  but  the  dying  woman  seemed  to  understand,  for 
she  lifted  her  hand  and  laid  it  on  the  dark  bowed  head. 

"  Roger  —  listen ! " 

"  I  am  listening,  my  darling ! " 

The  thin  lips  tried  to  speak.  An  expression  of  horror 
flitted  through  the  gray-black  eyes,  widening  the  lids. 
Then  they  closed  tightly.  A  struggle  was  going  on 
within  the  heaving  bosom. 

"God!  Mother,  can't  you  trust  me?"  Roger's  voice 
rose  sharply. 

"I  —  have  —  committed  —  the  unpardonable  sin ! " 

I  raised  my  head  and  uttered  something  —  I  don't  re- 
member what  it  was.  For  one  trembling  moment  Roger 
started  up;  but  the  thin,  blue  hands  of  his  mother  clung 
to  him  so  frantically  that  he  dropped  limply  on  his  knees 
beside  the  bed. 

"I  —  want  —  to  —  tell  —  all !  " 

Neither  one  of  us  encouraged  her  to  proceed,  and  I  saw 
Roger's  tense  muscles  soften  as  he  bent  over  to  kiss  the 
twitching  mouth. 


316  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  I  have  been  dying  ever  since  that  dreadful  niglit  I 
heard  you  say  that  God's  face  could  not  shine  upon  a  little 
child  —  who— " 

"Mother,  Mother!" 

"Hush!     I  must  tell  you!" 

They  had  ceased  to  think  of  me. 

"  Your  father,  Roger,  was  a  good  man,  wasn't  he?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  very  good." 

I  remembered  that  Roger  had  once  shown  me  a  letter 
written  by  his  father  just  before  his  death,  commending 
the  precious  mother  to  the  little  boy.  It  was  a  beautiful 
letter,  full  of  admonitions  and  advice,  and  brimming  with 
love. 

Mrs.  Everard  half  raised  herself  in  bed.  "  I  was  not 
married  to  your  father  when  —  your  eldest  —  brother  was 
born  —  the  little  brother  who  died ! " 

The  last  words  came  out  with  a  rush,  and  she  laid  back 
white  and  spent. 

Roger  sat  gazing  at  her  as  if  transfixed  into  stone. 

She  gathered  herself  together  for  one  more  effort,  and 
her  unseeing  eyes  were  filled  with  a  strange,  mysterious 
fear.  "  I've  always  hoped  —  that  —  that  —  sin  was 
atoned  —  for !  But  if  —  if  —  he  is  in  —  darkness  -. — " 

She  turned  toward  me,  gray  faced  and  hopeless,  and  I 
cried: 

"  Poor  little  mother !  Let  Christ,  not  man,  decide  what 
to  do  with  our  children.  No  man  is  able,  no  man  compe- 
tent, to  say  —  to  dare  to  say  —  that  the  little  child  who  is 
dead  is  not  with  Him !  " 

That  seemed  to  give  her  strength.  "  If  I  have  doomed 
my  little  son's  soul  to  misery,  I  must  have  committed  the 
unpardonable  sin ! " 

Her  words  rose  hysterically  high,  pitched  to  a  treble 
so  shrill  that  had  the  nurse  been  listening  outside  she  must 
have  heard. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  817 

I  saw  shudder  after  shudder  run  through  Roger's  body ; 
but  he  clung  like  death  to  the  withered  hands.  Then  the 
voice  came,  still  sharp  with  anxiety. 

"  I  loved  the  child  better  than  myself  — " 

She  choked  for  breath,  and  for  a  moment  I  thought 
she  was  gone ;  but  she  rallied,  drew  one  hand  away  from 
Roger,  and  felt  for  me.  I  could  not  bear  the  agonizing 
appeal,  and  put  my  lips  close  to  her  ear. 

"  Can  you  hear  me  ?  "  I  called. 

"  Yes,"  she  breathed. 

"  Mother,  don't  turn  from  me ! "  It  was  Roger's  cry ; 
but  she  didn't  heed  it,  but  tried  to  search  my  face  with  her 
vacant  eyes.  I  turned  frantically  upon  Roger. 

"Let  me  assure  her.  What  do  you  know  —  about  — 
a  woman's  love?  " 

"  Speak  then,  speak,  quick ! "  That  was  from  Roger. 
With  an  effort  I  bent  over  the  white  face. 

"  You  can  hear  me,  Mrs.  Everard?  "  I  asked  again. 

The  drawn  lips  formed  a  voiceless  assent. 

"  You  believe  that  Christ  was  sent  by  the  God  of  love  ?  " 

Again  the  lips  moved. 

"  He  does  not  say  there  is  any  sin  that  will  keep  us 
away  from  Him  in  the  next  life.  You  loved  Roger's 
father?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  managed  to  bring  out,  "  and  I  married 
him  —  afterward." 

Roger  kissed  the  limp  hands  passionately.  With  brim- 
ming eyes  I  forced  my  voice  into  the  dull  ears : 

"  I  know  that  you  will  see  your  husband  and  your  little 
child  in  the  Holy  of  Holies,  with  the  Christ  you  love  and 
have  served ! " 

I  tried  to  make  my  voice  carry  conviction.  She  heard 
me;  for  the  light  of  a  great  joy  flashed  over  her.  As  if 
the  blindness  had  been  stricken  from  her,  she  raised  her- 
self in  the  bed,  almost  tearing  her  hands  from  Roger. 


318  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  I  see,  I  see !  They  are  here  —  my  husband  and  the  — 
little  boy!" 

The  tones  were  so  infinitely  tender  and  pathetic  that  it 
must  have  been  that  ministering  angels  were  in  the  room. 
The  vision  faded  with  her  death.  Her  loved  ones  had  come 
for  her,  and  the  weary  spirit  fled  with  them.  The  gray 
head  fell  forward,  and  Roger  uttered  a  cry. 

"  Mother,  speak  once  more !  Phyllis !  I  —  am  —  the 
chief  of  sinners !  " 

Roger's  cry  and  his  words  brought  my  husband  to  my 
side.  He  slipped  one  arm  about  me  and  allowed  the  other 
to  fall  upon  Roger  Everard's  shoulder. 

"  Old  man,"  he  said  huskily,  "  stand  up !  Don't  cry  that 
way  —  don't ! " 

In  sympathy,  I  too  touched  the  bowed  man,  and  my 
eyes  flashed  to  the  dead  woman  on  the  bed.  It  must  have 
been  the  shudder  that  ran  over  me  that  made  Bruce  lead 
me  toward  the  door  and  out. 

"  Let's  leave  him  alone  with  her,"  he  whispered,  and 
when  we  were  in  the  hall  my  husband  drew  me  close,  and 
I  sobbed  with  hidden  face  against  his  breast. 

Suddenly  a  pistol-shot  rang  out  from  the  room  where 
death  had  so  lately  entered.  Bruce  dropped  me  and 
rushed  back.  I  followed  close  upon  him. 

Roger  lay  across  the  bed  almost  upon  his  mother's  face. 
His  eyes,  glazed  and  dying,  were  turned  toward  us.  He 
raised  his  limp  hand  to  stay  Bruce  from  lifting  him,  and 
whispered : 

"  Phyllis !     Phyllis ! " 

Bruce  pushed  me  forward,  and  I  bent  over  to  catch 
Roger's  whisper. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  Child  dear  —  so  sorry !  Forgive,  for- 
give!" 

For  an  instant  I  saw  in  the  blanched,  dying  face  an 
expression  like  my  baby's.  I  forgot  Bruce,  everyone. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  319 

I  knelt  down  and  sobbed  out,  "  I  have  forgiven  long  ago, 
Roger !  I  have,  I  have !  " 

With  the  last  rallying  of  his  sinking  strength,  Roger 
lifted  his  head.  "  Shield  her,  Stewart,"  he  whispered, 
"  and  love  her ;  for  she  is  —  good,  with  a  soul  as  big  as 
God's !  "  He  raised  suddenly  and  in  one  effort  placed  his 
lips  to  his  dead  mother's  face.  "  Poor  little  mother !  "  he 
breathed.  "  Take  me,  too,  your  boy,  your  baby !  " 

Then  he  died,  and  I  don't  remember  anything  more 
until,  when  daylight  came  back  to  me,  Bruce  was  leaning 
over  me  bathing  my  face. 


CHAPTER  XXXVH 

OUT  of  my  casket  of  dear  memories,  I  take  those 
last  two  hours  I  spent  with  Bruce  after  Roger's 
death. 

He  made  no  effort  to  persuade  me  to  take  up  my  life 
with  him,  and,  much  to  the  disgust  of  Zadie,  he  kissed  me 
sadly  and  went  away.  As  much  as  I  desire  and  miss  him, 
I  would  gather  the  tangled  threads  of  my  life  together 
by  myself.  Bruce,  in  delicate  understanding,  realized 
this. 

"  Phyllis,"  he  said,  "  my  life  belongs  to  you  —  call  me 
if  you  need  me." 

"  Bruce  darling,"  I  responded  in  tears,  "  may  I  call 
you  when  I  want  you?  There  can  be  no  more  needs." 

"  God  speed  the  day  ! "  he  whispered,  kissing  me.  "  Do 
you  love  me  a  little  ?  " 

"  Bruce,"  I  answered  brokenly,  "  every  good  impulse 
in  me  comes  from  you.  You  have  been  my  friend,  my 
savior.  When  we  begin,  I  want  to  have  forgotten  in  a 
measure." 

"  I  understand,  sweetheart  wife.  You  have  but  to 
speak,  and  I  shall  come." 

•  •••»»•* 

I  had  intended  to  resume  my  habit  of  writing  every  day 
in  this  book;  but  a  fortnight  has  elapsed  since  the  after- 
noon Father  Beulais  sent  his  card  in  to  me  with  the  request 
to  see  me  on  urgent  business. 

I  found  him  waiting  for  me  in  the  little  dining-room, 
and  he  took  my  hand  in  silence.  I  could  see  he  was  moved^ 

MO 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  321 

and  hoped  he  would  ask  me  something  that  would  enable 
me  to  show  my  appreciation  of  his  kindness  in  the  past. 

"  Pardon  my  troubling  you,"  he  began.  "  I  am  going 
to  beg  you  to  do  something  that  may  seem  strange.  I 
shall  not  be  surprised  if  you  object." 

"  It  would  have  to  be  very  difficult  before  I  refused  to 
comply  with  any  request  of  yours,  Father  Beulais." 

His  face  colored  slightly  as  he  bowed  acknowledgment. 
"  It  is  difficult,  I  assure  you." 

"  Let  me  decide,"  I  entreated. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  to  see  Lady  Jane  Grey." 

I  was  struck  dumb.  He  had  asked  the  one  thing  in  all 
the  world  I  could  not  grant.  To  see  Lady  Jane  would 
be  like  unearthing  all  that  was  most  hateful  in  my  past 
life. 

"  I  was  almost  sure  you  would  refuse,"  put  in  the  priest ; 
"  but  perhaps  you  will  listen  if  I  tell  you  something  about 
her." 

All  that  I  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  woman  of 
whom  he  was  speaking  rushed  over  me.  I  could  see  the 
beautiful  face,  hear  again  the  low  laugh  that  had  escaped 
from  her  lips  as  she  left  us  after  she  had  succeeded  almost 
in  ruining  my  life. 

Father  Beulais  went  on  without  waiting  for  me  to  an- 
swer. "  She  is  dying,  and  she  asked  for  you." 

Still  I  could  not  force  myself  to  speak.  My  heart  was 
rigid  with  painful  memories. 

"  She  says  that  you  are  her  enemy,  and  that  she  can't 
die  without  your  forgiveness." 

"  You  may  tell  her,"  I  replied  in  a  low  voice,  "  you  may 
tell  her  that  I  do  forgive  her." 

"  I  told  her  that,"  answered  Father  Beulais. 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  my  duty  to  go?  "  I  asked  in  a  fright. 

"  Yes." 

Quickly  I  dressed  to  accompany  him,  and } we  drove  in 


S22  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

silence  to  the  familiar  door  of  the  house  that  for  so  long 
had  been  my  only  home. 

I  followed  the  priest  upstairs,  with  but  a  hasty  glance 
at  the  door  of  my  former  rooms.  The  aroma  of  stewing 
coffee  drifted  into  my  nostrils  and  told  me  that  the  brief 
day  of  the  cocottes  of  Paris  had  begun.  Father  Beulais 
turned  the  handle  of  Lady  Jane's  door,  and  without  a 
word  I  went  in  after  him.  There  was  the  same  odor  of 
patchouli  and  cheap  soaps  that  was  characteristic  of  the 
place.  My  mind  went  back  to  the  time  I  had  first  seen  the 
rooms  through  the  crack  in  the  panel,  when  Roger  was 
with  Lady  Jane. 

The  priest  and  I  stole  through  the  small  entrance,  and 
found  her  stretched  out  on  the  bed,  with  the  pallor  of 
death  fast  spreading  over  the  beautiful  face.  My  dread 
of  her  changed  into  pity  at  the  sight.  The  lovely  auburn 
hair  lay  in  confusion  over  her  shoulders  and  about  the 
pillows,  while  her  fingers  plucked  nervously  at  the  white 
counterpane.  At  the  sound  of  footsteps  she  looked  toward 
us.  Father  Beulais  went  up  to  the  bed  and  touched  her 
hand. 

"  She  is  here,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 

She  nodded,  and  her  eyes  asked  him  another  question. 

"  I  have  not  told  her  yet,"  he  said,  bending  over  the 
bed. 

Saying  this,  he  held  out  his  free  hand  to  me,  and  I  ad- 
vanced softly  to  the  bedside  and  smiled  down  upon  Lady 
Jane  Grey.  I  have  never  seen  eyes  so  changed.  They 
were  large,  luminous,  and  beautiful.  The  hate  had  died 
within  them,  and  they  sought  my  face  with  inexplicable 
pleading. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me?  "  I  asked. 

"  Out!  "  The  pain  racking  her  slender  body  drew  her 
lips  into  a  thin  line. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

"  Lady  Jane,"  I  whispered,  "  tell  me  what  you  desire.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  help  you.'* 

Again  her  eyes  sought  those  of  the  priest,  and  Father 
Beulais  went  out. 

"  I  want  you  to  forgive  me,"  Lady  Jane  whispered. 
"  It's  easy  now  for  you.  I'm  going  away,  while  you're  to 
stay.  You've  heard  about  Larodi?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied,  shaking  my  head. 

"  He  left  me  not  long  after  Father  Beulais  married  us, 
and  I  had  to  come  back  here.  He  went  away." 

She  writhed  in  agony  at  the  telling,  and  I  grasped  both 
her  hands  in  mine.  They  were  so  emaciated  and  hot  that 
I  shuddered  involuntarily. 

"  Don't  try  to  tell  me  if  it  hurts  you." 

"I  must,  I  must!" 

"  Then  rest  awhile." 

I  smoothed  back  the  long  hair  from  a  brow  covered  with 
beads  of  perspiration. 

"  Vous  etes  gentille!  "  she  whispered  in  French,  only  to 
repeat  it  in  English,  "  You  ees  so  kind !  " 

As  her  lips  moved  -again,  I  leaned  over  and  caught : 

"  Casperone  started  for  America.  He  was  in  that  boat 
that  was  wrecked,  the  Carlyle" 

"  In  the  steamer  that  was  run  down  at  sea?  "  I  asked 
quickly. 

"  Yes,  and  since  he  left  I've  been  waiting  and  waiting 
to  hear.  But  it's  too  late  now."  She  buried  her  head  in 
the  high  pillow. 

"  But  you  will  get  better,  Lady  Jane.  We  will  have 
the  best  medical  advice  for  you.  You  must  try  and  think 
that  you  are  going  to  get  well." 

"  Non,  non!  The  doctor  says  I  have  to  go.  But  I 
couldn't  be  content  to  die  without  seeing  you,  Madame." 

All  the  pitying  emotions  in  me  were  aroused  for  the 


324  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

girl  on  the  bed.  I  felt  ashamed  of  the  feelings  I  had  har- 
bored against  her.  She  looked  so  wan  and  worn  and 
helpless,  that  I  sank  down  by  her  side. 

"Lady  Jane,"  I  pleaded,  "if  there  is  anything  you 
want  me  to  do,  you  have  but  to  tell  me." 

I  did  not  look  round  as  Father  Beulais  reentered  the 
room,  nor  did  I  note  that  he  had  someone  with  him.  It 
was  not  until  I  saw  a  strange  expression  on  the  dying 
woman  that  I  slowly  followed  her  gaze.  My  husband 
stood  beside  the  priest  at  the  foot  of  the  bed ! 

If  I  am  truthful,  I  must  admit  that  my  breath  left  me, 
while  my  heart  refused  to  beat  for  what  seemed  at  least 
half  a  minute.  Lady  Jane  held  out  her  hand,  and  Bruce 
came  opposite  to  where  I  sat  and  took  it.  He  smiled  at 
me,  and  I  smiled  back  at  him.  It  was  one  of  those  silent 
moments  when  each  of  us  understood.  I  knew  then  that 
all  these  months  I  had  been  stilling  a  love  that,  had  I 
dared  face  it,  would  have  loomed  larger  than  life  itself. 

As  my  husband  bent  over  the  little  woman,  she  raised 
her  arm  and  waved  him  back.  I  wondered  at  the  time  why 
she  had  done  it;  but  the  presence  of  death,  the  grave 
priest,  and  Bruce  made  me  powerless  to  reason.  I  was 
recalled  by  hearing  Bruce  speak. 

"  Jane,  you  sent  for  me,  too?  '* 

"  Oui,  oui!  " 

,     "You  are  ill.     I'm  sorry.     Father  Beulais  says  that 
you  want  me  to  do  something  for  you." 

"  Oui,  oui!     Will  you  find  a  home  for  my  little  girl?  " 

With  a  gesture  stronger  than  I  should  have  imagined 
possible  for  one  in  her  dying  state,  Lady  Jane  swept  back 
the  coverlet,  and  there,  almost  under  her  arm,  snuggled 
against  her  breast,  lay  a  babe  so  tiny  that,  unless  it  had 
opened  its  mouth  to  sniff  the  air,  I  should  have  believed  it 
was  a  wax  doll. 

Father  Beulais,  telling  his  rosary,  bowed  his  head,  and 


"YOU   ARE   ILL.       I'M    SORRY.       FATHER    BEULAJS    SA 


I  AT    YOU   WANT   ME  TO    DO   SOMETHING   FOR    YOU. 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  325 

Bruce  and  I  stood  opposite  each  other  in  silent  wonder- 
ment. 

"  Casperone  can  never  come  back  to  get  her,"  Jane  mur- 
mured. "  Can't  you  find  somebody  —  somebody  good  — " 
her  voice  had  become  a  wail  — "  who  will  take  care  of  the 
little  Jeannette?  I  don't  want  her  to  live  as  I  have  done. 
I  should  like  her  —  to  —  be  —  good  —  like  the  women 
good  men  marry.  She  won't  have  anyone,  not  anyone !  " 

The  wide  eyes,  shining  big  with  anxiety,  flashed  from 
Bruce  to  me,  and  in  an  agony  of  pleading  glued  their  gaze 
upon  the  priest. 

"  I  don't  want  her  to  go  to  an  orphanage,"  she  hurried 
on.  "  The  sisters  are  good ;  but  they  don't  know  how  to 
love.  I  want  my  little  Jeannette  to  be  loved.  Father 
Beulais  says  there  are  people  who  might  —  want  her !  " 

Obeying  an  overwhelming  impulse,  I  went  hastily  to 
Bruce's  side  and  bent  over  the  baby.  Its  wee  head  was 
covered  with  soft,  auburn  curls,  and  a  pair  of  gray  eyes, 
velvety  and  beautiful,  peeped  out  upon  a  new  world.  Lady 
Jane's  little  child  didn't  look  the  least  bit  like  my  dead 
boy, —  he  was  much  larger  and  whiter, —  but  I  thought  of 
him  as  I  watched  the  tiny  fingers  close  and  unclose.  The 
mother  hunger  awoke  in  my  heart. 

"  Jeanne,"  I  cried,  "  will  you  give  your  little  Jeannette 
to  me?" 

I  shall  never  forget  the  hush  that  followed  my  question. 
But  for  Bruce's  spontaneous  cry,  one  might  have  imagined 
that  the  room  was  empty.  Even  Lady  Jane  lay  like  death, 
staring  up  at  me  from  under  heavy-lashed  lids. 

"  I  will  give  her  every  happiness  I  can,  Jane,"  I  went 
on.  "  She  shall  be  loved  as  if  she  were  my  own  baby.  I 
will  shield  her  from  evil,  and  she  shall  know  life  only  at 
its  sweetest  and  cleanest.  Will  you  give  your  little  girl 
to  me?  " 

I've  heard  it  said  that  women  who,  at  sometime  in  their 


326  WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS 

lives,  have  forgotten  their  womanhood,  who  have  cut  loose 
the  strings  of  conventionality,  can  never  again  feel  grati- 
tude; but  this  is  untrue,  as  many  other  things  told  and 
preached.  For  one  brief  instant,  Jane  sat  straight  up 
in  bed.  She  lifted  the  babe  in  her  arms  and  smothered  tha 
red  head  and  rosy  face  with  passionate  kisses. 

"  My  angel,  my  little  one  —  tu  vas  etre  heureuse  —  tv, 
vas  — "  Then  she  murmured  in  English,  "  You  ees  to 
be  happy,  Mtgnonne!  " 

She  articulated  the  words  feebly  as  she  held  the  child 
toward  me.  I  snatched  it  as  her  arms  loosened,  and  both 
Bruce  and  Father  Beulais  lowered  the  woman  again  to 
the  pillow.  The  child  broke  into  a  dismal  cry  as  eternal 
silence  fell  upon  Lady  Jane  Grey. 

I  stood  mutely  watching  the  men  place  the  white  hands 
under  the  coverlet.  Father  Beulais  brought  the  burning 
candles  to  the  head  of  the  bed ;  then  he  turned  to  Bruce. 

"  Monsieur  Stewart,"  he  asked,  "  are  you  satisfied  that 
your  wife  should  have  the  child?  " 

When  Father  Beulais  had  put  the  question  to  him,  Bruce 
came  over  and  looked  down  at  the  wee  babe  on  my  breast. 
His  face  was  beautiful  to  see,  shining  with  love  and  intense 
interest. 

"Father  Beulais,"  he  replied  softly,  "this  little  child 
has  been  given  to  my  wife.  It  is  hers  now,  and  mine !  " 

His  eyes  fell  upon  the  silent  figure  on  the  bed,  and 
he  stretched  out  his  hand  for  mine.  A  thrill  of  love  swept 
over  me,  and  I  drew  closer  to  him. 

"  God  help  us  to  give  the  little  motherless  girl  happi- 
ness ! "  Bruce  finished. 

Before  Father  Beulais  could  reply,  my  husband's  arms 
were  round  me  with  passionate  strength. 

"  Phyllis  darling,  beloved  wife,  are  you  never,  never 
coming  to  me?  " 

My  glance  crossed  Father  Beulais.     His  was  full  of 


WHEN  TRAGEDY  GRINS  327 

mute  insistence,     Then,   with  abrupt  vehemence,  he  burst 
out: 

1  'It  is  God's  will !  Bless  His  Holy  Name !" 
While  I  was  wrapped  closely  in  Bruce's  arms,  the  priest 
knelt  near  the  dead  woman.  Without  speaking,  I  softly 
sank  to  my  knees  at  his  side.  Bruce  followed  me,  and  our 
hands  met  in  silent  prayer.  In  the  solemn  hush,  broken 
only  by  the  rhythmical  sound  of  the  rosary  beads  as  the 
priest's  fingers  slipped  over  them,  we  two,  my  strong  hus- 
band and  I,  began  our  life  together. 


THE   END 


fF\)ou  have  enjoyed  reading  "  WHEN  TRAGEDY 
GRINS,"  you  will  be  equally  pleased  with  "'Gcss 
of  the  Storm  Country"  and  "From  the  Valley  of  the 
Missing"  by  the  same  author.  These  books  are  non> 
published  in  a  popular  edition  at  fifty  cents  each  and 
represent  the  greatest  Valut  for  the  money  ever  offered 
the  reading  public. 


Says  "T&e  Boston  Globe"  in 
reviewing  Grace  Miller  White's 
novel  "From  the  Valley  of  the 
Missing* : 


'Wherever  there  is  a  mother  there 
ought  to  be  a  reader  of  'From  the 
Valley  of  the  Missing, 'or.  at  least  a 
sympathizer  with  its  unaffected 
pathos.  A  mother  could  not  put  this 
book  aside  without  finishing  it.  It 
grips  the  heartstrings.  It  is  wholly 
human  and  incessantly  alluring. 
There  is  not  a  superfluous  scene  or,  for 
that  matter,  hardly  an  unnecessary 
word  in  it." 


A     000036194     9 


